


Windwalker, Part 1: Notus

by Teutonic_Titwillow



Series: Windwalker [1]
Category: Forgotten Realms, Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, Earth meets Faerun, Eventual HotU, Eventual SoU, Female Anti-Hero, Forgotten Realms - Freeform, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Game(s), World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 62,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teutonic_Titwillow/pseuds/Teutonic_Titwillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca Blumenthal had everything going for her - wealth, power, a penthouse with a view. But, as the boundary between worlds begins to blur, she starts to wonder just how charmed - or cursed - her life really is. </p><p>Pre-NWN 1, a series of bad hair days eventually leading to Shadows of Undrentide and Hordes of the Underdark. Earth meets Faerun. Heavily influenced by Stephen R. Donaldson's Mordant's Need and Thomas Covenant series, plus Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett because they're my favorite authors and influence me always. May also contain a smidgeon of Alice in Wonderland. Protagonist described as "delightfully acerbic" and "a profane, temperamental gift" by reviewers. Not a Mary Sue or self-insert, and in fact starts out as a trainwreck par excellence, though not *quite* as bad as Covenant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes:_

_This is the first part of a trilogy which I posted some time ago at FF.net. Part 1 and 2 are done. The third and final story is currently (finally!) in the works. Since the NWN section at FF.net is a bit of a ghost town, I figured I'd hop over here and share!_

_I put this in the NWN section for a reason. The reason may not be clear during this part of the story. It will become clear in time._

_I will start many chapters with lyrics that I've scrounged up, to set the mood. If, however, I can't really find lyrics that fit the chapter, I won't push it. Therefore, some chapters will be without._

_This story is rated M for themes, language, and occasional dirty bits. Mostly language._

* * *

  **_Windwalker I: Notus_ **

* * *

  _Notus: The god of the south wind. Bringer of late summer storms and early autumn fog. The wind that turns smooth seas treacherous_ _._

* * *

  _"Poseidon massed the clouds, clutched his trident and churned the ocean up; he roused all the blasts of all the Winds and swathed earth and sea alike in clouds; down from the sky rushed the dark. Euros and Notos clashed together, the stormy Zephyros and the sky-born billow-driving Boreas."_

\- Homer, "The Odyssey"

* * *

_Have you ever seen the televised St. Vitus subcommittee prize_  
_Investigation dance? Those-ants-in- pants glances._  
_Well, look behind the eyes._  
_It's a hallowed, hollow anesthetized,_  
_"Save my own ass, screw these guys,"_  
_smoke and mirror lock down._

 _Broadcast me a joyful noise unto the times, lord,_  
_Count your blessings._  
_The papers wouldn't lie!_  
_I sigh. Not one more._

 _It's been a bad day,_  
_please don't take a picture._  
_It's been a bad day._  
_Please._

\- "Bad Day", R.E.M.

* * *

It had been a bad day, and it followed on the heels of several days just like it.

I was a slow learner. I'd held on to the hope, day after day, that things would get better once I was home and dry.

As I dripped with what, about ten seconds ago, had been the contents of a stagnant curbside puddle, I reflected one more time on the essential futility of optimism.

"I hope you crash into a pole and die, you blind-ass son of a bitch!" I shouted at the taxi's retreating fender.

I tried to wring out my skirt. Then I gave up. What had been in that puddle? Primordial soup? Raw sewage? Anthrax? Whatever it was, it felt slimy, and it was starting to give off the kind of rank effluvium that you'd normally only associate with homeless people and members of Congress.

I eventually flagged down another taxi. He nearly didn't let me in, but I latched on to the door before he could drive away. Then I badgered him mercilessly into giving me a ride. He gave in, mostly because I offered him double fare but partially, I think, because he was afraid that I might not let go and he would be forced to drag me across town – still clinging to his door, wailing like a banshee, and scaring off all of his other prospective clients.

Making other people suspect that you're a dangerous madwoman is a dirty trick. It's also, I've discovered, a very useful one.

The stench of my puddle clashed somewhat with the cabbie's coconut-scented air freshener. I imagined that the cabin smelled a little like the tropics might around malaria season.

"That's not healthy, you know," he chided me when we reached my apartment building. He gestured at my soggy clothes. "You go. Take a bath. No getting sick."

That's why I love this town. It's the only city in the world where your cabbie will give you a lecture on personal hygiene.

I paid the driver. Then I entered my building and oozed past the doorman, who went poker-faced when he saw me. I gave him a jaunty wave, because, hell, it wasn't as if I could make things any worse than they already were.

The elevator was closing. I blocked the door with my foot and squeezed through.

Ben Sherman from 26B was there. The look on the man's face when he saw me was difficult to describe. It blended horrified sympathy with the awkward realization that he was going to have to ride up more than twenty floors with the Swamp Thing.

I gave him a maniacally cheerful smile. "Evening, Ben," I said.

He mumbled a polite response and tried to sidle into the opposite corner as unobtrusively as possible.

We rode the rest of the way in silence. I suppose I could have made small talk, but somehow I just wasn't in the mood.

The phone was ringing when I opened the front door to my apartment.

I checked the caller ID. It was Barbara from the Times.

My blood pressure rose. I picked up the handset. "How the hell did you get this number?" I demanded.

The woman on the other end of the line must have heard something in my voice. "Hey, listen, Becka, don't hang up, I can explain-" she started.

I ignored her. "The mayor had no further statement for your paper last Friday," I said in my press-conference-automaton voice. "He had no further statement yesterday, when you ambushed me in the lobby-"

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I didn't have a choice, Larry's insisting-"

I droned on relentlessly. "He had no statement this morning when the Times cornered me at the goddamned cafe and, by the way, completely ruined the only moment of zen I had managed to catch all day and didn't even have the common decency to make up for it by paying for my mocha, and now," I stopped for breath. Some verve came back into my voice. "Now, you call me at my home and expect…what, exactly? Jesus Christ, Barbara, if this is you trying to get on my good side, you're tilting at one hell of a windmill."

"Would you just listen?" Barbara sounded as tired and frustrated as I felt. "Look. Larry wants me to offer you a deal if you're available for some insider commentary, you know, a voice from the front lines, and I really think you should consider-"

"No," I said. "Now stop fucking calling me about this. I mean it." I took the phone away from my ear and hit 'end' without waiting for a response. Then I slammed it back in its cradle.

Something furry wound around my calves. It mwrled.

I looked down. For the first time that day, I smiled. "Well, hello, sweetie," I said, and crouched down to rub the little white cat behind the ears. "You want food, don't you?"

Sasha meowed and pawed at my soggy knee.

"What? You want up? I'm warning you, you probably aren't going to like it very much. Mommy is very filthy."

Sasha yowled insistently.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you."

I picked the cat up and hugged her to my chest. The horrified look on her face bore an uncanny resemblance to Ben Sherman's. "See? I told you so," I said to her, and kissed the top of her head. "But you never listen, do you? Nooo."

The cat flattened her ears in annoyance and squirmed to get down. Then she led me over to her food bowl.

I fed the cat, turned on some music, poured myself a scotch, peeled myself out of my wet clothes, checked my e-mail, deleted most of it, and went through my voicemail, all while the shower heated up to boil-a-lobster.

"Boy, you been a naughty girl and let your knickers down," John Lennon sang from my living room speakers. I jived along.

Most of the messages in my inbox were, unsurprisingly, from reporters.

In the event of civil unrest, riots, electoral fraud, terrorist attacks, or ruptured water mains setting six city blocks afloat like the hugest and filthiest cruise liner ever, the press corps generally files neatly into their little room, they ask their questions, you answer, they file neatly out, and that's a wrap.

Then your boss's jilted mistress comes forward with dates, times, and a red-hot grudge, and boom, the corps turns into a ravening horde and completely ruins your week, if not your life.

It's not as if I even had an inside scoop on the whole sordid affair. Of all of the knowledge with which a wise politician never burdens his press secretary, his sexual proclivities are - thank god - right at the top of the list.

Of course, right at the top of my own personal'need-to-know' list was how all of these people had managed to dig up my home number. That number was unlisted. I gave it out only to my family and my closest friends. The prospect that one of them might have leaked it to the press did zilch to improve my mood.

One of the messages was from my stepmother. I deleted it. If she wanted to say something to me, she could either say it through dad or not at all.

"I am the eggman," Lennon crooned. "They are the eggmen./I am the walrus./Goo goo gajoob!"

I hip-checked the fridge door, cracked another pair of ice cubes out of the tray, and poured myself another scotch.

It took a hot shower and two scotches, but eventually I began to feel almost human again.

I thought about eating something. Then I poked around the kitchen and realized that a) I had forgotten to pick something up for dinner on my way home and, b) even if my cooking didn't usually qualify as a deadly weapon, which it did, all I had to work with was a jar of cocktail olives, a half-gallon of lumpy milk, and a bag of flour tortillas that probably weren't supposed to be the same color as the olives.

I was scrolling through my contacts list in search of someone whom I might be able to cajole, bribe, or bully into joining me for dinner somewhere when the phone rang again.

I waited. After a few rings, the call beeped over to voicemail.

"Hello," a disembodied voice said. "This is Sheila Lawson from the Inquirer. I've got an offer that I think you won't want to miss out on. Why don't you come and join me at-"

I yanked the phone cable out of the jack. Then I threw the entire unit across the room. It left a dent in the wainscoting.

Sasha raised her head and stared at me indignantly.

"Sorry, sweetie," I said contritely. "Go back to sleep."

Then I wondered why I was apologizing to someone whose entire vocabulary began and ended with 'meow'.

See, this is what came of living alone with nothing but a cat for company. Don't get me wrong. I don't know what I'd do if I had to come home every day to an empty apartment. I'd either end up in a mental institution or in the bathtub with my wrists opened, more than likely – but that was the entire point, wasn't it? I had to stay sane and not kill myself. Otherwise, who would take care of Sasha?

Nevertheless, there's something fundamentally disturbing about the realization that the most meaningful relationship in your life is the one you have with your cat.

I rested my forehead against the wall. My head hurt. I needed some fresh air.

"Screw this," I muttered out loud. "I'm going out for a run."


	2. Chapter 2

_She thinks, "Hey,_  
_How did I come to this?_  
_I dream myself a thousand times around the world,  
_ _But I can't get out of this place."_

 _T_ _here's an emptiness inside her_  
_And she'd do anything to fill it in_  
_And though it's red blood bleeding from her now  
_ _It's more like cold blue ice in her heart_

 _She feels like kicking out all the windows_  
_And setting fire to this life_  
_She could change everything about her  
_ _Using colors bold and bright_

 _But all the colors mix together – to grey_  
_And it breaks her heart_  
_It breaks her heart  
_ _To grey_

_\- Dave Matthews Band, "Grey Street"  
_

* * *

I ran through a forest of glass and concrete and steel, and the vibrant pulse of the nighttime city filled my veins like a drug.

The rain sheathed the buildings around me and slicked the sidewalks. It turned everything grey. I liked it. I was feeling a little grey, myself, and I'd always loved running in the rain.

My shoulder ached. It often did when the weather turned damp. I ignored it and ran on.

After a few blocks, I left the hum of the city behind and passed into the misty green oasis of Central Park. My feet pounded along the path _, one-two-one-two_ , taking me further away from everything that ailed me. If I could, I'd probably keep running until I hit water. Then I'd start swimming, striking out for the most distant shore I could get to.

I'd wanted to travel, once. Not just a few city blocks or to the country just outside the city, the way I did now – I'd wanted to go all over the world. I'd dreamed of it. T here were so many sights to see and so many people to meet. There were so many new places to discover. And, naively, I'd thought that I could not only see the world, but I could make a difference along the way.

So, I did what a lot of young students in my position did, and spent my summers volunteering in places that made my father's hair stand on end. I wasn't worried. I was young and immortal, full of high hopes and good intentions. Nothing could stop me in my march to save the world from itself.

Maybe I did make a difference in someone's life, somewhere along the way. Maybe I didn't. I don't know. Sometimes it's hard to know whether you're helping or interfering, whether you're making things better or just inadvertently making them worse.

What I do know is that I was on a teaching stint in the slums of Capetown one summer when I was mugged at gunpoint. They shot me and took everything I had on me. Then they left me to bleed out on the street.

I don't know why they did it. Maybe they were strung out on something. Maybe they needed the money for their sick grandmothers. Maybe it was just a random act of violence. Or maybe I was just a stupid little rich girl who thought that good intentions were a reasonable substitute for a bullet-proof vest. I don't know. I doubt I ever will.

I think I made my way to the nearest clinic, where the nurses extracted the bullet from my shoulder and stitched me up. The memories are hazy, blurred with shock. Nothing in my life had prepared me for the experience of actually getting _shot_.

It could have been worse, in retrospect. I could have been raped, or killed if the bullet had hit me in the head or the heart or the lungs or some other vital organ. Instead, I got away with a clean bullet wound, a shoulder which ached in damp weather, and a new story to tell - once my hands stopped shaking every time I thought about it, anyway.

Dad didn't see it that way.

He pulled a few strings, gave me a new apartment and found me a cushy job in a local politician's office. He said that I could change the world just as well from here as I could from some third world hellhole. He begged me to come back home and live a normal life. He said that it killed him to think of what might happen to me out there.

I came back. I didn't want to upset him. He'd already had one heart attack. I didn't want to be responsible for the next one.

Besides, I was scared. Disillusioned. Charity work wasn't what I had built it up to be in my fantasies.

I ran on through the rain. The wind whistled in my ears, cleaning the cobwebs out of my head.

Someone drew alongside me. "May I share this path with you?" I heard him ask.

Somewhat surprised, I glanced at the person next to me.

He was a tall, bearded man. Handsome, in a grizzled kind of way. He seemed familiar to me, and I decided that he looked a lot like Sean Connery - just younger and without the male pattern baldness.

He was also wearing a long black overcoat. As jogging gear went, it struck me as a strange choice – but, compared the man who'd passed me one December while wearing nothing but a length of strategically placed Christmas tinsel, this was small potatoes. "Suit yourself," I said indifferently, and let him match my pace.

Years later, I'd often return to the memory of that surreal span of time where he and I ran side-by-side in the rain. Neither of us spoke. It wasn't necessary. The silence was almost companionable, and the wind was at our backs. We flew.

I thought of all the places I had never seen, and I thought of my father, who only wanted to keep me safe.

I thought of the nurses in Capetown, and of how they had told me that there was a reason for everything that happened.

I thought of their faith in god and fate and good, and I wondered why I didn't have any.

It wasn't that I didn't believe in god. Not exactly. Atheism required a certain level of conviction, and I just couldn't bring myself to care. If there _was_ a god, though, I was _so_ set to flood his complaints department. That son of a bitch had a lot to answer for.

"Where are you going?" the strange man asked suddenly. His voice was soft, yet deep and mellifluous. It was the kind of voice that people turned to hear.

The break in the silence surprised me. I laughed, because somehow his question struck me as absurd. "Who wants to know?" I asked, in between strides.

"A fellow wanderer."

I decided to humor him. I shrugged and said, "Around the reservoir and down past the museum, I suppose."

"And then?"

He was starting to annoy me. "And then home. Why are you asking me this?"

"I am curious."

"Don't be. Nosy people piss me off."

He seemed to find this funny. "You are a very angry woman," he remarked.

"Well, aren't _you_ observant?"

"I see many things, yes." He gave me an appraising glance. "But I think I like you - angry as you are."

"You don't even know me."

"Nevertheless."

We ran on for a while. I tried to ignore him and hoped that he would go away. His bizarre statements had ruined the mood.

"The anger is eating away at your soul, you know," the man remarked conversationally, breaking the uneasy silence. "You die a little inside with each day that passes."

Now he was _really_ starting to annoy me. "Did I ask for a psychic reading?" I demanded. "I don't think I did. In fact, you know what? It's been fun, but I think you should go away now. Find your own trail."

"Yes. I must go, very soon," he said, unperturbed. He nodded at the path ahead. "The opening of this portal was a random event. My presence here is already causing it to attenuate."

He wasn't just annoying. I was beginning to suspect that he was also crazy. "Good," I said, and waved my hand. "Happy trails. Bon voyage. Don't forget to write."

"You should come with me."

I missed a step. The man put out a hand to steady me, but I drew away. I stopped and turned to face him. He stopped as well. He was taller than I was, and now he looked menacing. "Don't touch me," I warned him. "I have pepper spray, you know. I'll scream. I'll call the police."

For some reason, he seemed to find my threat amusing. "I wish them luck in finding me," he said, grinning. "I can be very hard to track."

My patience had reached its last straw. "Get lost," I said. "I'm warning you."

The man didn't answer right away. Calmly, he strolled to a space between two trees, to where someone had hung an old wooden picture frame from the branches. I hadn't really noticed it before, and if I had, I'd just taken it to be a piece from one of the many contemporary art displays that cropped up occasionally throughout the park.

The man reached the empty picture frame and turned to face me. His face was weathered, and the way the shadows caught it suddenly made him look stern, like the statue of some old, forgotten soldier. "I am not lost," he said. "But you are."

I was starting to feel afraid, but I'd be damned if I let this man see it. "You'll be losing your teeth in about five seconds if you don't leave me the hell alone," I blustered.

He ignored me. "You are restless," he said. "You pace your cage and snap at the bars, but your rage blinds you to all possibility of escape." He held out his hand. "Walk with me. Please. I can show you a way out."

I wanted to ask him if he was nuts, but I vaguely remembered being told not to call crazy people crazy to their faces, in case you triggered a violent psychotic episode or something.

That's when I noticed two things.

One: what I'd taken as an overcoat was actually a long, swirling cloak, the kind that had gone out of style some time in the eighteenth century.

Two: The man's feet weren't touching the ground.

I blinked, suddenly regretting going out for a run on an empty stomach - empty as long as you didn't count the scotch, anyway. I was starting to see things.

The advantage of having a hallucination, though, is that you start to lose your fear - mostly because you're so busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on that you don't have any time to be afraid of it.

"Who _are_ you?" I asked wonderingly.

Annoyingly, the man responded to my question with one of his own. I was just beginning to understand that this was a seriously bad habit of his.

"What keeps you here?" he asked me.

I wasn't sure whether to be angry or thoroughly creeped out. I tried for angry. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" I snapped.

"One you should ask of yourself," he answered, unruffled.

"Son of a-" I gnashed my teeth on the last syllable and tried to pull myself together. "I'll ask again. Just who do you think you are?"

The man looked at me. The wind suddenly began to pick up, making the trees rustle and groan. "To enter the portal, hold a shard of broken glass in your left hand and a blade of grass in your right," he said, and somehow his quiet voice carried even over the rising wail of the wind. "When you are ready, you will find me on the other side. But do not wait too long."

I shouted it this time, both because I was either pissed or scared shitless or maybe both, and because now the wind was howling in my ears like a hungry wolf. " _Who are you?!_ "

The stranger gave me the most infuriatingly enigmatic smile that I had ever seen in my entire life. "Follow me, and find out," he said.

Then he stepped through the picture frame and vanished into thin air.


	3. Chapter 3

_Do you have the time,_  
_To listen to me whine,_  
_About nothing and everything  
_ _All at once?_

 _I am one of those,_  
_Melodramatic fools._  
_Neurotic to the bone,  
_ _No doubt about it._

_\- Green Day, "Basket Case"_

* * *

 

I was pulling a length of string across the floor for Sasha to pounce on when the phone rang.

It was four in the morning. I had no idea who would be calling at a time like this, but I had to admit that I was curious.

Besides, I hadn't been able to sleep. Maybe a conversation with another human being would keep me from thinking about strange men who walked into picture frames and then, seemingly, right out of existence.

So I made a mistake. I picked up the phone without checking the number first.

"Rebecca," a man's voice said. "Finally. It's Robert. We need to talk."

 _Oops,_ I thought, and stared at the gridlike pattern that the city lights made on my bedroom wall as they streamed in through my windows. _Damn. This_ really _should have gone to voicemail._ "We need to talk?" I repeated dumbly. "Now? At four in the morning?"

"You don't answer me any other time." He sounded peeved. "So, yeah, at four in the morning."

I was getting a bad feeling about this. "Can't this wait?" I asked.

"No. It's waited long enough." I heard a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. "This isn't going to work out," he said.

I leaned over and picked up my scotch. I took a sip, to cover up the little moment of surprised hurt that I had felt. "'This', being?" I asked neutrally.

"You know what I mean, damn it. This. Us. I get it, okay? You're a busy woman. You don't have time for a relationship. Well, I get it. But I'm done waiting for you to return my calls. I'm done."

His voice was slurred. "Have you been drinking?" I asked curiously.

"What?"

"You heard me. You sound a little schnockered, mein liebchen." I took another sip of my drink. "Maybe we should discuss this later. Once you've sobered up a little," I added.

"This is ridiculous. Waiting won't change anything. I've already made up my mind."

I swirled the melting ice cubes around in my scotch and took another sip. My gut felt like a ball of yarn after Sasha had gotten through with it, all tangled up and twisted. "Well, the thing is, I was sort of hoping to dump _you_ ," I pointed out, studying my manicure and trying to sound flippant. "…and this way, I don't get to do that."

That much was true. I didn't love Robert. I didn't even really want to be in a relationship with him. Lydia had introduced us because she thought he was sweet and really good-looking, and because she thought it was cute that both of our names started with an 'R'. Lydia was like that, sometimes.

I'd gone along with it, because I'd just gone through a dry spell and he really was attractive and the prospect of having six feet and a hundred-and-eighty pounds of male flesh and muscle in my bed had short-circuited all rational thought processes – such as the ones telling me that he and I really had nothing in common, or the ones telling me that he was petty and vindictive and bored me to tears.

Nevertheless, I'd intended to let him down gently, sooner or later. He wasn't the greatest, but he wasn't the worst, either. At least he'd never treated me as his meal ticket, or paraded me around in front of his friends like I was some kind of trophy. I'd had enough of _that_ to last me a lifetime.

What I hadn't expected was that Robert would turn the tables on me first.

I'd never been on the receiving end of a breakup before. I usually bailed before that happened. The experience hurt more than I'd expected it to. Maybe that was why I'd lashed out and tried to hit him where I knew it would hurt. Or maybe it was just the scotch talking. Take your pick.

There was a moment of silence on his end. Then: "I don't believe you sometimes. I really don't."

"Well, it's just that it's not going to look good on my permanent record, you know? So maybe if I could get my script straight and call you back tomorrow-"

"How the hell you landed a job in the public relations with an attitude like that, I'll never know." He laughed suddenly, harshly. "Oh, right. Your daddy's money bought it for you. I forgot."

I shot to my feet. The room spun, and I had to grab onto the nightstand to keep from falling. "How dare you!" I shouted into the phone. "Listen, buddy, I've done better than anyone else has at keeping that miserable, scum-sucking bastard's favorable ratings up! I've sold my soul to this fucking job and I've done it all without any help from anyone, so don't tell me that my success is all thanks to daddy! Don't you fucking _dare_!"

"You know, one day that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble that even the mighty William Blumenthal can't buy your way out of," Robert remarked venomously.

Then he hung up on me. The son of a bitch _hung up on me_. I couldn't believe it.

I let out a snarl of rage and slammed the phone back down so hard that the cradle cracked.

Then I threw myself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling drunk and miserable and sorry for myself and pretty sure that I'd just been a royal asshole to someone who probably didn't deserve it.

"What a mess," I said. I wasn't sure if I was talking about myself, my life, or what was left of my telephones. The cheap plastic they used these days just didn't last. "What a complete and utter goddamned mess."

I felt a slight weight jump onto the bed.

Sasha's head popped into my field of vision. She trilled questioningly.

"You want something, sweetie?" I held out my hand. Sasha sniffed it. Then she rubbed her head against my fingers until I gave in and scratched behind her ears. "Well, at least you still love me-" The cat stomped on my stomach a few times before settling down on top of me. "…I think," I wheezed.

We – the little white cat and I – lay there for a while in pensive silence.

At least, _I_ was pensive. I couldn't vouch for Sasha. I loved her dearly, but, really, you can only do so much thinking when you have a brain the size of a peanut.

My thoughts spun around in circles. "So, what do you think?" I asked Sasha. My voice was hoarse and tired. "Am I finally losing my mind?"

Sasha blinked her yellow eyes at me and purred.

I let my head fall back against the coverlet and sighed. "Yeah," I said. "I figured you might say something like that."


	4. Chapter 4

_Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm._  
_I know; it's been comin' for some time._  
_When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day,  
_ _I know; shinin' down like water._

 _I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?_  
_I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?_  
 _Comin' down on a sunny day?_

\- Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Have You Ever Seen the Rain? _"  
_

* * *

My cellphone started ringing while I was in the elevator.

I answered it. "Rebecca Blumenthal here," I said.

"Becka, it's Lydia," the voice on the other end chirped. "I just got your message, and I have to say, that's a strange thing to want to know. Is it for work?"

Lydia worked in a mental institution. The topic of insanity had been weighing heavily on my mind as of late.

Since _that_ night, I'd run on any trails but _that_ one. I didn't know if I might run into the strange man again or not, and I didn't want to find out.

Since _that_ night, I hadn't been able to get a decent night's sleep. Either I lay awake and played the strange man's words over and over in my mind, or I drank until I passed out and then woke the next morning feeling like someone had coated my tongue with a mix of papier-mâché and raw sewage.

Since _that_ night, I had wondered what kind of person walked without his feet ever touching the ground, and whether I had just imagined the whole thing.

 _I am not lost,_ the echo of his words played through my head, over and over and over again. _But you are._

"Yes," I said slowly. "Research. For work. Studies on, uh, mental health and the homeless. You know. Budget stuff."

"Oh. I wouldn't have thought that he'd be planning any long-term…um. Damn. Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. That was tactless."

I bit back a sigh. "Don't worry about it."

"Do you think he's going to have to resign?"

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. I stepped out. "I can't answer that question, Lydia," I said, a weary edge creeping into my voice. "You know that."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry. Well, um. About your question..."

I tried to fish my keys out of my purse with my free hand. As usual, they had fallen all of the way to the bottom, under about six metric tons of miscellaneous crap that I didn't even remember putting into my purse in the first place. "Yeah?"

"Well, we usually see the onset of schizophrenia around eighteen in men and twenty-five in women-"

I was twenty-eight. "Is that on average?"

"Mmh. Yes, although it tends to continue to manifest in women until a much later age than it does in men."

 _Shit._ "Oh?"

"Yes, it can show up as late as thirty, maybe thirty-two."

 _I'm doomed._ "Is that rare?"

"It's uncommon, but not unheard of."

 _I'm so doomed._ "Well, thanks, I-"

I reached the door to my apartment. My voice trailed off.

"Becka?" my friend prompted after a while. "Are you there?"

I stared at my door. "Um. Sort of."

"What's wrong?"

"Someone…wrote something on my door."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. It seems to be written in a really bizarre form of English." I cocked my head and squinted. "'adultrers go 2 hell'," I read out loud. "Oh, and this one's nice. It says, 'hore of babilon'. Christ. If they're going to vandalize my property, can't they at least do me a favor and check their spelling first?"

"Wow," Lydia marveled. "And I thought the crazy people were all in here."

"Funny. Very funny."

"Sorry. Seriously, though, why would they go after you? You're just his press secretary. You had nothing to do with the affair or the accounting errors or, well, any of it."

 _They're after me because I'm the mouthpiece for a very bad man,_ I thought. _Because he'll let me show my face to the public, but he won't show his._ "I don't know," I said out loud. "I-"

Whatever I was going to say next evaporated from my head the minute I touched the doorknob.

The knob turned easily.

Belatedly, I noticed the deep, splintered gouges all around the edge of the door.

My blood froze. "I have to go," I said abruptly, interrupting Lydia's stream of chatter. "I'll call you back."

I clicked the phone shut and pushed the door open. I kept my can of pepper spray in my hand and my back to the wall. I didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but I'd seen it done on television, so I figured it was worth a shot. The only other alternative would have been to stay in the hallway until the cops turned up, and I think I would have gnawed my own leg off if forced to just stand there, stare at my trashed apartment, and wait.

The soles of my slingbacks crunched on broken glass.

There was more graffiti inside. It was scrawled all over the walls.

Sasha didn't come out to greet me. I didn't blame her. She must have been scared stiff, poor thing.

I went through the apartment, checking the damage and clucking softly to draw my cat out of hiding. Nothing seemed to have been taken. This was no burglary. It was malice, pure and simple. It looked as if some nut had just wanted to vent some moral outrage at a philandering, money-laundering politician, and because he couldn't get through my employer's security, he had decided to take it out on me.

My blood heated to a slow boil. I searched through the house, calling Sasha's name.

Some of the things my visitors had written were seriously insulting.

 _Jackasses. They want me tarred and feathered just for doing my job,_ I thought. _I didn't know about the fraud. I didn't even sleep with the man. He doesn't pay me nearly enough for that._

 _No,_ said a niggling little voice in the back of my head _. But you supported him, even though you knew what he was. You helped get him back into office. It was your_ job _, so you looked away and held your nose because it was your_ job _and you didn't want anybody to say that the Blumenthal heiress can't even do the_ job _her daddy got for her, did you?_

I opened the bathroom door and saw red on the white tiles.

Then, at last, I saw Sasha.


	5. Chapter 5

_Well it's you and it's me_  
_Me with a drink in my hand_  
_The ice is tinkling like a wind chime  
_ _And late afternoon settles over the land_

 _And you're talking about things_  
_interesting just slightly_  
_and things that matter too much  
_ _to say any way but lightly_

\- Vienna Teng, "Daughter"

* * *

The doorbell was ringing.

I poured myself another measure of bourbon and ignored the doorbell for as long as I could.

After a while, the ringing turned to pounding, and I couldn't ignore it any more.

I got up, glass in hand, and wrenched the door open. The doorknob fell off in my hand, barely missing my foot. This only made me more irritable.

"I've already given my statements to the police," I snarled. "Whatever you want, it can wait for tomor-" Then my jaw dropped as I actually noticed who was standing in my doorway. "Daddy?" I said incredulously.

He smiled at me. "Hey, little peach," he said softly. "Won't you let me in?"

Automatically, I stepped back to let him by. "I don't look much like a peach, dad," I protested, like I always did.

"You did when you were a baby," he countered, like he always did. He placed his hands on either side of my head and kissed my forehead soundly. "How are you, honey?"

I pulled my head away. I couldn't meet his eyes. "What are you doing here? I told you not to worry," I said. "I'm fine. Really."

Dad tilted my head up and brushed my cheek with his fingers. His thumb came away smeared with black. My mascara must have run. I hadn't even noticed. "No, you're not," he said. Then he drew me into his arms. "I'm sorry, honey," he said into my hair. "Have they found out who was responsible?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face against my father's shoulder. _Big girls don't cry,_ I told myself silently. _Big girls don't cry. Big girls don't cry._ "Not yet," I mumbled.

"Well, we'll find out." Dad stroked my hair. "Monsters," I heard him mutter. "Who would do that kind of thing to a defenseless animal?"

I didn't know. I wished that I did. I'd have liked to do the same to them.

We stood there for a while. Dad said nothing else, and I tried to get a hold of myself. He looked thin, and his face was puffy. I didn't want to upset him.

He shouldn't even have come. I'd _told_ him that I could cope just fine by myself, but did he ever listen? Of course not. He was a Blumenthal. He didn't let anybody else tell him what to do, not even his own daughter. I was mostly annoyed, but I'd have been lying if I had said that I didn't feel just the teensiest surge of familial pride.

Eventually, dad cleared his throat. "I hope that's your first," he said clinically. He tapped a fingernail against my glass of bourbon.

I sniffled and pulled away from him. I brushed, mostly futilely, at his lapel. If the mess on his suit jacket was any indication of the state of my makeup, I probably looked ready for my mug shot. "That depends on your definition of 'first', I think," I mumbled.

He sighed. "Try not to overdo it, honey. I know you're upset, but it's not good for you," he said. He kissed my forehead again. "You look tired."

That was a very dad way of saying that I looked like I'd been put through a wringer-washer and then hung out to dry on a firing range. "I'm okay." I stepped away from him. "Did you already eat dinner? I could, uh-" I remembered, too late, that the only things I had in my fridge were closer to science experiments than actual food. "I guess we could order something in."

Dad smiled and held up a brown paper bag. "Already done."

I sniffed the air. I smelled the familiar aroma of Chinese takeout, and suddenly realized that I was famished. I couldn't even remember when I'd last eaten. "Is that from Mr. Hu's?" I asked longingly.

"You bet. Fried dumplings, kung pao chicken, and an order of his special lo mein, just for you."

My mouth watered. "You're a miracle worker," I said, and took the paper bag from him eagerly. "Let's eat."

I was trying to wrangle a snow pea into my chopsticks when dad dropped the bomb.

"So, I was thinking," he said. "You could come and stay with us on the farm until this all blows over." He smiled at me. "We could go to Ashley's. It would be just like old times."

I stabbed my chopsticks down into a nest of noodles. "No," I said. "Absolutely not."

"Rebecca-"

"No! Daddy, look. I can handle this. I have to. I can't leave now, not with this scandal getting worse every news cycle-"

"Someone else can handle it."

"Bullshit."

"Rebecca! Language!"

"Okay. How about poppycock?" I dropped my head into my hands, stung, as always, by the look of censure on his face. I stared at the tabletop through my fingers. "Look," I said flatly. "There's no one else on staff who can do this. I have to be here-"

"Nonsense. I'll find you another position. A better one-"

"No!" My fist hit the table. "I'm not running away, daddy! I can do this!" I didn't like the plaintive whine that entered my voice. It stayed there anyway. "Can't you see? Everyone thinks that I coasted into this job on name alone-" _And they're right,_ said a little voice inside me. I squashed it mercilessly. "-and they're just salivating to see me fall and take the Blumenthal name down with me! Well, I won't give them that satisfaction. This is my job, and I'm going to do it!"

Dad sighed. His shoulders slumped. "At least come to stay with us," he pleaded. "I'll make sure you have a car and driver so you can get to work, but I don't like the thought of you being alone here at night. Not after what's happened."

I tried to smile at him. "You probably have a twenty-four-seven armed guard on me by now," I joked. "Come on. What could happen?"

My smile faded when I remembered what had already happened.

 _Look on the bright side,_ I told myself. _I don't have any cats left for them to kill._

I didn't want to start crying again. I knew that dad would drop everything once he saw my face crumple, and I didn't want to win the argument that way. I wanted to win the argument because I was _right_.

I must not have kept my face as still as I'd hoped, though, because dad's face softened instantly. "No, little peach, don't cry, please don't cry," he sighed, and reached across the table to brush my hair away from my face. "All I want is for you to be safe and happy. Can you understand that?"

I cleared my throat and made myself smile at him reassuringly. This time I succeeded. "And I will be," I told him. "I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

_I am turning, turning  
_ _From a land that I loved well  
_ _Look ahead, my darling one  
_ _Across the rolling swell_

 _And you can hear the seagulls crying  
_ _As we're slipping out of the bay  
_ _Yesterday is dying, love  
_ _And je suis désolé, je suis désolé_

\- Mark Knopfler, "Je Suis Désolé"

* * *

When I came back from my run, the phone was silent.

No one came to greet me.

As I had for the past week and a half, I just tried to pretend that the silence was normal.

I dropped my keys onto the entry table with a noisy clatter. Then I turned on some music, cranking the volume way up – I was in the penthouse and my father owned the whole damned building, so who was going to complain? - poured myself a whiskey, and checked my mail.

" _Yesterday is falling, love/And je suis désolé, je suis désolé."_

There was a note from the vet's office. They wanted to know what to do with Sasha's remains.

I methodically tore the letter into tiny pieces. Then I flushed the pieces down the toilet.

" _Je suis désolé, mais je n'ai pas le choix./Je suis désolé, mais le vie me demande ça."_

I showered and ate some leftover kung pao chicken.

Then I made myself comfortable and turned on the television.

"…latest developments in the mayoral sex scandal. We have a voice recording from the mayor's former press secretary, delivered to us by anonymous sources…"

I let out a feral shriek and banged the remote on the arm of the sofa until the screen went dark again.

I'd heard that recording enough times already. I didn't need to hear it again.

Desperate, I turned to the radio for distraction.

"…a really remarkable display of indiscretion and what may be the death knell for the mayor's hopes for re-election. Voices from all sectors are now calling for his immediate resignation…"

I lunged for the 'off' button.

"Shit," I panted. "Can't these people find something else to talk about?"

The phone rang.

Against my better judgement, I picked it up. Hell - it was better than listening to the radio.

"Hey, Becka," Jeff's voice greeted me. "I just heard the news. Man, I'm sorry. That's harsh."

I'd known Jeff since my first year of college. He'd always been a pretty decent friend to me, despite also being the most cut-throat, balls-to-the-wall, conniving bastard of a lawyer I'd ever met - my father's legal team notwithstanding. "Jeff, my man," I said. "Good to hear from you. Yeah, it's harsh, but what doesn't kill me, right?"

"Right. Uh. Hey, listen, about that offer-"

I hid my sinking heart under a layer of bravado. "You've decided to up the amount?" I asked tartly.

"Uh. No." At least he had the good grace to sound embarrassed. "Look, I'm really sorry, but we can't take the risk right now. You're too hot to handle."

"What risk? I've got a glowing resume-"

"Well, yeah. Sure. Okay. Up until the part where you let your ex tape you calling your boss a scum-sucking bastard."

I lost it. "How was I supposed to know that he was taping me?" I shouted into the phone. "Robert's never been that smart! It was four in the morning! I thought he was just drunk-dialing me!"

"Yeah, well, turns out that he played you good. That, or you must have seriously pissed him off." A sigh came through the line. "Look, Becka, I'm sorry, I really am, but my hands are tied. Ciao."

He hung up without waiting for me to reply.

I stared at the phone for a while.

Then, deliberately, I put the phone back in its cradle, grabbed my keys, and left.

The picture frame was still there. The cloaked man wasn't.

I slowed my pace. Then I stopped, breathing hard. I didn't know what I had expected to find. I hadn't been down this trail since _that_ night.

It had been on _that_ night that Robert had called, and everything had started going wrong.

Now, two weeks later, my life had gone downhill, fast. My boyfriend had dumped me, my cat was dead, my career was dying, and I was well on my way to becoming a walking cliché. _Spoiled heiress fails at life. News at eleven._ I would have laughed, if I weren't right in the middle of the whole mess. And it had all started here. Had the cloaked man set this whole chain of fuckups and disasters in motion? But how? And why? What was he trying to prove? What was he trying to do to me?

It was a crazy thought, but then, it was no wonder that I was having crazy thoughts. I hadn't slept in two days.

When I had slept, it had been in a hotel. I hadn't admitted it to dad, but I couldn't sleep in that apartment after all. The maid had bleached and mopped until all traces of blood were gone, but that hadn't stopped me from seeing red every time I walked into the bathroom.

I told myself that I was being silly. I told myself that Sasha was just a cat. A nice cat, but just a cat.

But then I came home every day to a huge, sucking silence and an empty house, and I realized that she had never been just a cat. Maybe, with the way things were panning out, she had been my only real friend. Everyone else was ditching me, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Suddenly, I took off one of my shoes and hurled it at the picture frame. "Where are you, you son of a bitch?" I yelled. "What have you done to me? Huh? What the hell is going on?" I turned around in a circle, my eyes wild and my arms wide. "I'm not lost!" I shouted maniacally, and sat down in the grass, hard. "I know exactly where I am! I'm right here! So where the hell are you!?" People were starting to stare. "Oh, and my soul's just fine, for your information!" I added at the top of my lungs. "Just fucking _peachy_!"

It had all started here. I knew it.

I just wished I knew when it would end.

I sat there for a long time with my head in my hands. I was breathing as if I'd just run a marathon, and my eyes were burning. I heard footsteps go by, everyone giving me a wide berth. After all, nobody wanted to get involved with the crazy lady. I would have laughed, but I just felt so tired.

Then, gradually, as I sat there, I calmed. The wind dried the dampness on my face.

After a while, I stood up. I brushed dead grass from the seat of my pants. I retrieved my shoe.

"I'm fine," I muttered. "Fine. I'll get through this. But don't ever let me find you, you meddling sack of shit," I added with a venomous curl of my lip.

Then I went home.

The little red 'message waiting' light was flashing when I got back.

I pushed 'play'.

My stepmother's clipped, well-bred tones filled the empty foyer. "Rebecca," she said. "It's Lois. Please pick up. Are you there?" She paused. "It's your father. He's at Phelps Memorial. I...I think you need to come. Please…call me when you get this."

The phone beeped. "Message ended," it announced in its digitized voice.

The red light went dark.


	7. Chapter 7

_Just a box of rain, wind and water,_  
_Sun and shower, wind and rain,_  
 _In and out the window like a moth before a flame._

 _And it_ _'s just a box of rain, I don't know who put it there,  
Believe it if you need it, or leave it if you dare._

_And it's just a box of rain, or a ribbon for your hair;  
Such a long, long time to be gone, and a short time to be there._

\- Grateful Dead, "Box of Rain"

* * *

The late summer sun trickled through the branches of the old maples, casting dappled shadows on the lawn.

I walked among the stones and shadows, trying to think of nothing in particular.

One of the shadows fell across my path. It was wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a Chanel suit.

Lois strolled over to my side. "I thought the service went well," she observed. "The eulogy was very touching."

I said nothing.

My stepmother persisted. "The caterers should be done setting up by now," she said. "You should see the farm. You know how lovely it is this time of year."

I knew. We'd spent every summer there, until I'd decided to spend my summers trying to save the world, instead.

I still said nothing.

After a while, Lois huffed in exasperation. "Fine," she said. It gratified me that she had to crane her neck to look up at me. She clapped her hand to her hat to keep it from sliding off of her head. "Don't speak to me. Act like a petulant child. For heavens' sake, you were through this once already when your mother died. One would think that you would have gotten the hang of it by now."

 _Ah,_ I thought. _Here come the claws. Right on schedule._

I opened my mouth. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't have the practice that you do." I smiled at her. "Why, I haven't even bitten the head off of any of my mates yet."

Lois's eyes shot sparks, but her smile was cool. "No," she said. "But you did let one of them bite _your_ head off. What was his name? Robert? You really could have handled that more gracefully, you know. Men have such fragile egos. You should never humiliate them like that if you can at all avoid it." She adjusted her hat again. "How _is_ that job hunt going, by the way?" she added maliciously.

I felt my face flush.

I was trying – and failing – to come up with a scathing retort when I heard footsteps behind me. They were punctuated by the gentle thump of a cane. "Are we going for a walk?" a tremulous voice asked. "Oh, good. It's _such_ a lovely day."

I turned. "Grandma," I said, and smiled at her. Her hair was white, her skin was like rice paper, and she probably had no idea why she was here, but she looked so happy that I couldn't help but smile. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, well enough, dear, thank you for asking." She patted the arm of her hulking escort – one of my cousins, I thought. It was hard to keep them all straight. After so many generations of being _the_ family to marry into in the area, the Blumenthal bloodline had more branches than a mangrove tree. "Have you met my date?" my grandmother asked slyly. "He's a strapping one, isn't he? I may be old, but boy, I can still pick 'em."

My cousin's face was fixed in a polite rictus. "You're too kind, Mrs. Blumenthal."

"Oh, call me Mary, please," my grandmother said, and fluffed her white curls with one hand. She twinkled up at him. "My husband won't mind – not so long as we don't tell him."

I took pity on my cousin and stepped forward. "Why don't we go look at the flowers, Grandma?" I asked her. "I know how much you like the irises."

The old lady took my arm graciously. "My goodness," she said. "What a lovely girl you are." She smiled up at me vaguely. "Do I know you?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'm your granddaughter," I said. "Rebecca."

"Oh." She peered up at me as if seeing me for the first time. Her face lit in a smile of recognition. "That's right. William's girl. My goodness, how you've grown! You know, you're the spitting image of your poor mother. I nearly mistook you for her! That bone structure of yours will age beautifully, you know. Oh, dear. How long has it been since she died?"

I tried to remember my mother's face. Dad had had a picture of her on his desk - at least, until Lois had demanded that he put it somewhere out of sight. All I remembered was dark hair, olive skin, and a teasing smile. "Over twenty years," I said. "A long time."

My grandmother clucked her tongue and sighed. "Such a sad loss," she said. "She was so young. I know that William misses her still – though you probably shouldn't tell that to Lois. You know how she can be."

My lips twitched. "Yes," I said blandly.

My grandmother patted my arm. "Tell me, do you remember your mother at all?" she asked curiously. "Goodness. You were so young…barely more than a baby."

I'd been six. The day she'd come back from the hospital was one of the clearest memories I had of her, though I hadn't even seen her that time. They hadn't let me into her room. I remembered wanting so much to give her the necklace dad had helped me pick out for her, and not understanding why I couldn't, or why the air in the house felt so heavy and grim.

She'd died the next day. I never did get the chance to give her that necklace. "She liked music," I said at last. A faint, melancholy smile quirked my lips. The only other memory I had of my mother was of sitting next to her on a piano bench, watching her hands dance over the keys while a breeze came in through the lace-curtained window. "She tried to teach me how to play the piano. I was terrible at it."

"Oh, yes," my grandmother chattered. "Your father has quite the tin ear, I'm afraid. You must have gotten that from him." She smiled up at me vaguely, her eyes as bright as a bird's. "Why, your father and I were talking about you just the other day. He is very proud of you, you know. You're the apple of his eye."

This was getting worse by the second. "I know," I whispered.

"I wonder where he's gone off to?" my grandmother rattled on. "I'm sure he'd love to see his little girl, looking all grown-up and so much like her mother. We should go find him."

I tried not to hear the patter of dirt falling on the coffin on the other side of the cemetery. "Maybe later," I said, and I took my grandmother to look at the irises.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello, darkness, my old friend  
_ _I've come to talk with you again,  
_ _Because a vision softly creeping,  
_ _Left its seeds while I was sleeping,_

_And the vision that was planted in my brain  
_ _Still remains  
_ _Within the sound of silence_

_-_ Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence"

* * *

I walked the old, familiar trails while the wind whispered in my ears.

I was alone. It was late at night. And I was feeling very strange.

 _I am not lost,_ a voice echoed in my head. _But you are._

_You are. You are. You are._

My aimless footsteps dragged me inexorably onwards.

I'd always thought that becoming an orphan would change me somehow, but I didn't really feel all that different.

It was the world that had changed. There was a hole in it, and the hole was growing deeper and darker by the hour.

I felt numb and unreal, like I was walking in someone else's skin. I didn't know what was happening anymore.

 _Follow me,_ the strange man beckoned in my memory. _Follow me, and find out._

Hah! I'd follow him, all right. I'd follow him and find out just what the hell he had done to me.

The picture frame was still there.

I walked up to it. It was old and plain. It looked like nothing special, apart from its size – big enough to walk right through, if that was something you felt like doing.

But I was pretty sure it had ruined my life - not to mention ended my father's.

 _I could have stayed at the farm,_ I thought. _It wasn't that big of a deal. It would have made daddy happy._

The doctors had said it was a massive coronary. They said it had been quick.

I was glad it had been quick. I wished that I had had the time to say goodbye.

_I should have kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't have upset him._

Should, would, could. Shouldn't, wouldn't, can't.

I stared at the picture frame. It had all started here. I wished that I could reverse it.

But…couldn't I? The strange man had said to follow him. What if I did? If I followed him, would things be set right? Would that fix it? Would that take it all back?

Or would I just vanish from the face of the world, like he had? And would anyone really care?

Would it be worth it, if it brought dad back?

Dreamily, not quite knowing what I was doing, I stepped through the frame.

My foot came down on the grass on the other side.

Nothing had changed. I was still there, where I had always been, and dad was still gone.

Anger seized me, all of the sudden.

I lunged at the picture frame, pounding on it with my fists.

It didn't budge. "I know you're in there, you son of a bitch!" I shouted. "Come out! Come out and show your face! I fucking _dare_ you!"

The wind rustled the leaves. Crickets chirped.

I fell to my knees. Sobs tore through me so hard that my chest hurt.

 _I want my daddy,_ I thought. _Please, god, I'll do anything, anything you want, just bring him back, just make this not be happening._

Nobody answered. I was alone, and I didn't know what to do.

After a while, I wiped my face, got to my feet, and went home.

I knew what I was going to do. I was going to get very, very drunk.

* * *

The phone was ringing again.

It felt like Quasimodo was ringing the bells of Notre Dame right inside my goddamned head.

I flailed with my bed sheets until I managed to free an arm from the tangle of four-hundred-billion thread count Egyptian cotton woven by Zoroastrian monks or virgin sea otters or whatever the hell it was that dad had bought for me when I'd first moved in. I groped blindly for the phone.

It took me a few moments to find the 'talk' button. I stabbed at it with my finger. "Yeah?" I said groggily.

"Rebecca," Lois said pleasantly, and for a moment I had to fight back the impulse to scream in primal terror. "How are you, dear?"

The inside of my skull felt like it had been lined with dog hair. "Peachy," I croaked. "You?"

"Oh, just fine. And how is the job search going? Have you found any leads?"

I hadn't been looking. "A few," I said.

"That's wonderful. Do keep me updated on that." I heard the clink of a tumbler. "Listen," she said then. "About your father's things-"

I squinted at the bedside clock. It was almost noon. "Hmm?"

"Well, as you know, I have been made executor for his estate." Paper rustled. "As it happens, I was going through a few records this morning and I couldn't help but notice – your father's name is on your apartment, is that right?"

"His name's on the whole building," I said wearily. _And you know it._ "So?"

"Well, it's just that while the estate is being settled, I'm afraid that all of his assets will have to be frozen."

I wasn't following. "Um. So?"

"So, since your name is not _technically_ on the deed, nor are you under any form of rental contract, my lawyers tell me that it would be best if you were to move out – temporarily, of course. Just until all of this is settled."

I felt as if my thoughts were swimming through thick molasses. "Move out?" I echoed blankly. "And go where?"

"Well, of course I would be willing to help you find a new apartment. Of course, since I see that William was named as a co-signer on your accounts, I am afraid that those will have to be frozen as well. Don't worry, dear. I'd be glad to give you some financial assistance, just until you get back on your feet. I'm sure you understand."

No matter how much I pickled my brain in alcohol, I still dealt in spin for a living – at least, I had before I'd gotten canned, anyway. Digging past the pretty trappings to the bare-fisted bullshit beneath Lois's words was practically second nature to me by now. _In other words, you're using a legal technicality to seize everything I have, and you'll dole it back out to me as you see fit,_ I thought grimly. _Oh, I understand, all right._ "I'll consider what you've said," I told her. I needed time to think. "Listen. I, uh, have some stuff to do. I'll call you back this afternoon, okay?"

I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling for a while.

So. The shrew was finally doing it. She was going to wring every last cent from dad's estate, and she was ready to remove me from the picture if that's what it took to get what she wanted.

The problem was that Lois had always been much more of a bitch than I was. It was why she always won our little tiffs. It wasn't that I was even a very nice person, myself. It was just that there were some depths to which even I refused to sink.

It occurred to me that maybe I should get out of bed.

I tried to sit up. The room spun and tilted like a carnival ride, and I laid back down again until the urge to puke had become a little less pressing.

For my second attempt, I just rolled out of the bed and then half-crawled, half-dragged myself into the kitchen.

I reached for the countertop without bothering to stand. My hand slapped the granite until my fingers hit something that felt like the coffee machine. I pressed some buttons until I heard a promising gurgle. Then I sank down against the cabinets and closed my eyes for a while, because the world kept wobbling and pulsing in a really disturbing way and it was kind of making me want to hurl and it was always so embarassing when the maid came in and found you lying in a puddle of your own vomit. I tried to avoid it, when I could.

When the coffee was done brewing, I drank it black, with some painkillers on the side. That done, I poured myself a second cup and waited until the pounding had subsided a little and I could start thinking again.

One thing seemed certain. If I wanted to deal with the Lois, I was going to need someone who was an even bigger asshole than I was.

I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Jeff, my man," I said. "Good morning. I think we've got a problem."


	9. Chapter 9

_Heaven bend to take my hand_  
_Nowhere left to turn_  
_I'm lost to those I thought were friends_  
_To everyone I know_  
_Oh they turn their heads embarrassed_  
_Pretend that they don't see_  
_But it's one missed step_  
_One slip before you know it_  
_And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed_

 _Though I've tried, I've fallen..._  
_I have sunk so low_  
_I messed up_  
_Better I should know_  
_So don't come round here_  
_And tell me I told you so..._

 _-_ Sarah McLachlan, "Fallen"

* * *

Jeff stared across the table at me. "You want me to _what_?" he asked. I think his voice went up a full octave, he was _that_ horrified.

"Oh, come on, Jeff," I scoffed. "You're the most bloodthirsty shark I know. What are you afraid of?"

"Harpoons. Big, pointy, gigantic freakin' harpoons." He shook his head and pushed his plate away. "Listen, hon, I'd love to help, but your stepmother's got your dad's lawyers on her side-"

"So?"

"So if I don't want my head stuffed and mounted and hung next to the heads of all of the other lawyers who were stupid enough to take on the Blumenthal attack squad, I'm gonna have to take a pass on this one."

I had my checkbook with me, but I couldn't access my accounts. I'd tried before coming here. Chances were that any check I wrote would bounce right back, and Jeff was a cash-only kind of guy, anyway. Plastic wouldn't fly with him, either – it was too easy to trace. I drummed my fingernails on the table.

Then I thought of my mother's jewelry. "How much would it take to change your mind?"

He looked at me. "How much does a miracle cost?" he asked.

I felt sick. "So you're not going to help me."

He looked away. "It's not that, it's…" He fiddled with his straw and trailed off uncomfortably. "Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors, anyway?" he asked, as if to cover the awkward silence.

I gave him my best no-comment stare. "Are you in any way legally required to know the answer to that question?"

"No."

"Then I'm not answering it." I laid down my napkin. "Well, it's been fun, but I think I can see where this is going," I announced. "I'm leaving. If you change your mind, let me know. If not, I'm sure I can find someone else who actually has the balls to help me."

I wanted to claw that pitying look right off of his face. "I'll pick up the tab," he said quietly. "You just take care of yourself, all right?"

"Thanks. Will do." I pushed my chair back from the table and left.

* * *

 

The bartender poured me another tequila.

It was a good one. Anejo. Pale amber. Smooth, with just a hint of the clean sweetness of the agave behind the oak.

I tossed the tequila back in one gulp, slammed the glass back down on the bar counter, and wondered how I could ever have been so goddamned stupid as to let things come to this.

Everything was in dad's name. He'd opened the accounts when I'd turned eighteen. He'd left his name on them so that he could manage my investments and transfer money over at will. All I'd ever had to do was tell my employers where to deposit my paycheck. He'd taken care of the rest.

He'd given me the apartment. The furniture. The sound system. Even the artwork on the walls had belonged to him.

All I had was my jewelry, and while that would tide me over for a while, it wouldn't last.

Besides, that wasn't the point.

Dad had loved Lois. He hadn't seen her for what she was.

But I had.

I had, and yet I'd left it all wide open for her to take.

Why had I done that? How could I have been such an idiot?

 _Because daddy always took care of everything for me,_ I thought hollowly. _I didn't even question it. I just let him do his thing and didn't worry my pretty little head about it._

It hadn't occurred to me that he would die so suddenly and leave everything in a tangle. It should have been obvious. He'd had his first heart attack at forty-six. The next one had only been a matter of time.

I stared at my empty glass. Then I ordered another.

The bartender looked at me. His hands didn't move. "It's late," he said gently. "Shouldn't you be getting home?"

I blinked at him. "Why?" I asked blankly.

He sighed. "Sister, have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"

There was a mirror behind the bar. I peered at it until it swam into focus.

A stranger peered back at me.

Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin was pale, and her long dark hair had gone past curly and straight to 'medusa'.

Worst of all were her eyes. They were ringed with dark circles, and looking into them was like looking into a pair of bloodshot, Nietzschean pits.

I looked away. "Shut up and give me another," I said wearily. "It's not as if I've got anywhere else to go tonight."

I'd talked to more lawyers after Jeff had shot me down. No one would agree to take my case.

It had been nice to have a legal team that struck the fear of god into opposing counsel. I'd gotten accustomed to having it at my more or less instantaneous disposal, and I hadn't given it any more thought than that.

It had never occurred to me how it felt to _be_ the opposing counsel. Or the opposing anything, for that matter. It was as if there was a steamroller headed my way, and I didn't have the foggiest idea what to do about it. Part of me just wanted to lie down and let it roll over me – and the more I drank, the bigger that part became.

I tried to focus on the bartender. "It used t'be so easy," I said blearily. "What the hell went wrong?"

"Things'll look better in the morning," he said. I didn't look the look of pity in his eyes any more than I'd liked the same look in Jeff's. "Drink some water and get some sleep, sugar. You'll see."

I looked at him and smiled. He was cute, with his caramel skin, neat dreadlocks, and easy smile. "I could take you home with me, instead," I suggested coyly. I frowned. "'Cept I don't have a home right now," I added. "Guess it'll have t'be your place. Y'all right with that?"

He cleared the empty glasses away, save for the one I was still clutching in my grubby little fist. "Sorry, sister," he said. "I'm sure you'll be a knockout once you clean yourself up a little, but I bat for the other team."

"Oh. That's a shame."

He grinned. "Not from my angle, it isn't," he said. He wiped the bar. "Tell you what," he said after a while. "I'll do you one better. I'll get you a room at a hotel, call you a cab, and you can sleep tight without worrying about a thing until noon tomorrow. I'll even put it on your tab and you can take care of it next time you come in. How about it?"

I huffed a bitter laugh. "I can't sleep," I said.

"Don't worry about that, sugar. With the amount of liquor you've got in you, you'll be off to sleepyland in no time."

"No," I said. "You don't understand. I _can't_ sleep." I looked down at the bar. It was made of brushed metal and dark wood, and it blurred together in my vision. "There was a…was this guy…"

He sighed. "There always is," he murmured, rolling his eyes. "What did he do to you, girl?"

I giggled. "His feet didn't touch the ground," I mumbled. I rubbed my eyes. "Then he vanished. Poof. Gone. Walked into a, a picture frame and left me with a, with a mess."

Now the bartender was looking at me really strangely. "That's it," he said. "I'm cutting you off."

"I think he cursed me. Or something," I rambled on, ignoring him. "I wish I could find him. I'd…" What would I do? "I'd ask him what the fuck he was thinking, messing with my head like that. I'd make him…" My fingers tightened around my glass. "Make him tell me what he did." I thought about it. "Make him _pay_."

The bartender laid his hand over mine. "I'm calling you a cab now," he repeated clearly and evenly. "And you're going to bed. Okay?"

I jerked my hand away. "No!" I exclaimed, and slammed my fist down on the counter. I heard a tinkle of glass and felt a strange hot sensation in my hand. "Damn it, I tol' you! I can't sleep! I can't-" I looked down at my hand. Broken glass glittered. Bright red blood welled up from my palm and started snaking down my wrist. "Oh," I said.

The bartender took one look. "Shit," he said, and grabbed a bar towel. He wrapped it around my hand. "Shit, shit, shit. Hold still. Keep pressure on it, okay, honey? I'll call an ambulance."

I picked up a shard of the broken shot glass and stared at it, wide-eyed. There was blood on it, but I didn't really notice that.

" _To enter the portal, hold a shard of broken glass in your left hand and a blade of grass in your right_ , _"_ whispered a fractured memory, reflected in the broken glass.

It hadn't worked. I'd tried to walk through the picture frame and vanish, just as the cloaked man had done, but it hadn't worked.

I'd thought it was because I was just nuts. Picture frames didn't turn into doorways to other places. Strange men didn't pop into existence just to fuck up people's lives. To think otherwise was a sign of serious derangement.

" _When you are ready, you will find me on the other side."_

I turned the broken glass over in my bloodied fingers.

What if I wasn't nuts?

What if I'd just been going about things the wrong way?

I looked up. The bartender had his back turned while he called the paramedics.

I wrapped the shard of glass in a cocktail napkin and slipped it into my purse.

Then I waited, because by then the bartender was watching me like a hawk and I'd hate it if anyone thought I was crazy.


	10. Chapter 10

_You know the day destroys the night  
_ _Night divides the day  
_ _Tried to run  
_ _Tried to hide_

 _Break on through to the other side  
_ _Break on through to the other side  
_ _Break on through to the other side, yeah_

 _-_ The Doors, "Break on Through"

* * *

The paramedics removed a few splinters of glass from my palm. Then they cleaned and bandaged the cut for me.

They wanted me to go to the emergency room to get a few stitches, but I refused. They argued, but they couldn't take me to the hospital against my will, so eventually they gave up and left, telling me to take it easy.

The bartender poured me into the cab. He told me to take it easy, too. I smiled at him and sat obediently in the back seat, my hands folded on my lap.

The flicker of lights and the hiss of tires on asphalt were almost hypnotic. I watched the world go by for a while.

We passed my former apartment. I leaned forward. "I'll get out here," I told the cabbie.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. "The man said to take you to your hotel," he said. He didn't slow down.

I thought for a moment.

Then I reached into my purse, opened my wallet, and handed over all of the cash I had on me without even bothering to count it. "Stop here," I repeated.

The man looked at the money. Then he looked at me. Then he looked at the money again.

Thirty seconds later, I was standing on a sidewalk just outside of the park.

The taxi pulled away. "Thank you!" I called after him. Then I laughed. Whether or not my hunch about the picture frame was right, I suspected that I'd just made some cabbie's month. Maybe even his year.

Of course, if my hunch _wasn't_ right, I'd just given away the last of my ready cash for nothing.

I shrugged and started walking.

As I walked, I fished the shard of glass out of my purse and unwrapped it. It flickered as I passed beneath a streetlamp.

The picture frame was still there. No one else was nearby.

I flopped down on the grass, heavily. My thoughts swam around at random in my liquor-addled brain.

The wind ruffled my hair. The park felt so different at night. I felt like I was the only person alive for miles.

I twined my fingers in the grass and plucked a few blades loose. I chose the prettiest one and let the others fall.

Then, after a few false starts, I managed to clamber to my feet.

I stood in front of the picture frame, swaying.

I saw more grass and more trees on the other side, and beyond them I saw shadows.

I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing.

Then I wondered why it mattered. It wasn't as if I had anything left to lose.

I held the shard of broken glass in my left hand, and the blade of grass in my right.

Then, my eyes fixed on the far trees, I stepped forward.

The world winked out like a light.


	11. Chapter 11

_Another red letter day_   
_So the pound has dropped and the children are creating_   
_The other half ran away_   
_Taking all the cash and leaving you with the lumber_   
_Got a pain in the chest_   
_Doctor 's on strike, what you need is a rest_

_It's not easy, love, but you've got friends you can trust_   
_Friends will be friends_   
_When you're in need of love they give you care and attention_   
_Friends will be friends_   
_When you're through with life and all hope is lost_   
_Hold out your hands, 'cause friends will be friends_   
_Right till the end._

_-_ Queen, "Friends Will Be Friends"

* * *

I felt something nudge my shoulder.

I groaned. Pain spiked through my head. "Lemme 'lone, Sasha," I mumbled. "Mommy's tryin' t'die."

Something nudged my shoulder again.

I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.

Then I froze.

The scent of damp earth filled my nostrils. Grass tickled my face.

 _Wait a minute_ , I thought muzzily. When had I decided to go camping?

Then a few memories trickled back into my tequila-soaked brain.

A sudden surge of panic prompted me to try to open my eyes and sit up all at once.

Blinding pain stabbed through my eyeballs and into my head. The wave of nausea hit me like a typhoon.

My stomach heaved. I just barely managed to twist to the side in time to vomit into the grass instead of all over myself.

When I'd finished hacking up what appeared to be everything I'd ever eaten in my entire life, I lay there, half-prone, and tried to catch my breath.

Tears prickled behind my closed eyelids. My head _really_ hurt.

I felt that nudge at my shoulder again. Something brushed against my face. It felt like damp linen.

Too groggy to question this strange providence, I took the towel and wiped my face with it. The linen was coarse, but it was cool and damp, and it soothed my aching head.

Then I froze again.

Slowly, I turned, blinking my gummed eyes to clear them.

A little bald man smiled serenely at me.

He was wearing a plain gray robe with a pair of baggy gray pants under it, and a pair of rope sandals under that. There was a walking stick not far away from where he sat cross-legged on the grass, and he had a rucksack slung over his shoulder. He looked about fortyish, though with his baby face it was a little hard to be sure of his age.

I stared at him. He smiled at me. "Who the hell are you?" I croaked.

The little bald man spread his hands wide and shrugged. Then he pointed to his face.

I squinted. My bleary eyes followed the track of his pointing finger. What I had taken for a birthmark near the corner of the man's left eye turned out to be, on closer inspection, a tattoo in the shape of a little gray teardrop.

That meant nothing to me. "What?" I asked, uncomprehending. "Is that your name or something?"

He looked at me for a moment, and then he shook his head. He clasped his hands in front of him as if praying, and gave me a small, seated bow.

"Oh. So...you're a monk?" I asked. He nodded. I wasn't surprised. If his robes had been orange and a little different in cut, I would have taken him for a Hare Krishna. As it was, it was obvious that he was some kind of humble holy man. There was something about the type that was easy to pick out of a crowd.

Maybe that was why I didn't feel afraid of him, despite the strangeness of the situation. Monks generally didn't attack people. At least, not that I knew of.

I decided to sit up and have a look around.

That was when I realized that I had no idea where I was.

The last thing I knew, I had been in an urban park, surrounded by grass and oaks and familiar trails.

Now I was in a grassy little clearing in a forest that looked like nowhere I was familiar with. The trees around me were all tall, mature pines, and a stream was burbling somewhere nearby.

I stared around me, open-mouthed.

Something pungent was wafted under my nose, and I jerked away reflexively.

Then I remembered why sudden movements were such a terrible thing to do while hung over.

The pain hit my head like a wrecking ball. I clutched at my head and crumpled in half, my head between my knees, until the boiling oil that had apparently been poured into my skull while I was asleep cooled down a little.

When I dared to look up again, the monk was still smiling at me. In his hand he held a steaming mug.

I eyed it warily. "What is that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The monk didn't answer. He just held the mug out to me again and nodded as if to say, "It's okay. You can take it."

After a moment, I shrugged and took the mug gingerly. It looked harmless enough, and it wasn't as if anything could possibly make me feel worse than I already did.

There was some kind of herbal tea in the mug. It tasted floral and lightly astringent. I sipped it carefully. It washed the sour taste of bile from my mouth, and, about halfway through the cup, my stomach began to settle.

I blinked. "Wow," I whispered. "This is good stuff. What's in it?"

The monk beamed at me. He rummaged in his sack and came up with a pouch, which he handed to me.

There were dried flowers and leaves of some kind in the pouch. I had no idea what they were, but the fragrance smelled similar to the tea I was drinking.

I handed the pouch back. "Can't you talk?" I asked the monk curiously.

The monk shook his head. Then he held out his hand and rocked it back and forth in a 'so-so' motion.

"Hmm. So…you're able to talk?" He nodded. "But you're not going to?" He nodded again. I took a wild stab in the dark. "Why? Did you take a vow of silence or something?" He nodded even more emphatically and beamed at me approvingly. "Oh."

So, I'd passed out in the park, I was someplace I didn't recognize, and the only person I could see who might be able to offer an explanation was effectively a mime.

Great.

I wasn't afraid. Not yet. Things were too fucking weird for that.

I drank some more tea. "Can you at least tell me where I am?" I asked. "Or show me?"

The monk hesitated. Then he rummaged in his bag again. This time he pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper and showed it to me.

The paper felt strange, as if it wasn't paper but was actually some kind of thin leather or suede. When I unrolled it, I saw blue oceans, green land, gray mountains, and yellow deserts. It was unmistakably a map, and a very detailed one at that.

And I still had no fucking clue where I was. If this was a map, it was a map of a place that my teachers had never covered in their geography lessons – and I'd had the best education that money could buy. Dad had made sure of it, even though my classmates had unanimously voted me most likely to die in a gutter somewhere. In retrospect, they may have been on to something. "Uh. Is this some kind of a joke?"

The monk shook his head. Then he took the map from me, studied it for a moment, and then turned it around and pointed at a spot somewhere in the upper left quadrant.

I stared. There was writing on the map, but none of the names were familiar to me. "That doesn't help me," I said at last, weakly. What the hell was going on? "I don't know any of these places."

The monk looked at me for a moment longer, as if wondering whether I was entirely right in the head. I can't say that I blamed him. Then he rolled up the map, rested his chin on his hand, and assumed a thoughtful pose.

I sat quietly, feeling shellshocked and confused. Then the monk started gesturing again.

First he pointed at me. Then he held his hands out to either side and looked around in several different directions, as if trying to locate something. Then he made little walking motions with two of his fingers, starting in midair and coming towards him from various angles. Then he looked back at me and raised his eyebrows in a wordless question.

I opened and closed my mouth, trying to interpret this strange pantomime. It took me a few minutes and several false starts. "You…want to know how I got here?" I asked. He nodded. I gave a brief, bewildered laugh. "I, uh…I don't know?" It felt strange to say the words out loud. "I wish I did."

The monk cocked his head. Then he pointed up at the sky and mimed what looked like something falling down from above.

This was easier to interpret. "You think I might have fallen from the sky?" He shrugged and smiled. "I…I don't…I don't remember." _Now_ I was starting to feel panicked. "I…I…I walked through this frame. I was in the park. Near my house. Then this man showed up, and then he vanished, and I…I tried to follow him. He pissed me off. I mean, seriously pissed me off, you know?" I was aware that I was babbling, but I didn't know how to stop. "So I walked through this picture frame. Right? And then I…I don't know. I passed out, I think. And now, I…" I looked around. Tears welled up in my eyes. "I think I'm lost," I whispered.

The monk looked at me. He had brown eyes, and there was something so warm and compassionate in them that I suddenly found myself struggling not to cry.

 _Big girls don't cry,_ I chanted in my head, trying to pull myself back together again. _Big girls don't cry. Don't cry._

And then there were arms around me and the comforting smell of cotton and soap and a hint of clean sweat. A hand rubbed my back in wide, soothing circles.

The relief of finally being held by someone - _anyone_ , just as long as they cared enough to deal with a trainwreck like me - obliterated the last of my resistance.

I sobbed until I couldn't even see straight. It was all too much. I missed dad. I missed Sasha. I missed my home. I didn't know what was happening. Nothing made sense anymore.

After a while, I ran out of tears and huddled limply against the monk's skinny chest. My head was pounding again, my throat ached, and I felt horrifically embarrassed. "Sorry," I mumbled into damp cotton, and pushed myself away, avoiding the monk's eyes. I scrubbed my face and sniffled noisily. "I…I don't normally do that."

He didn't respond. Eventually, I risked a peek at him. He was standing there patiently, leaning on his walking staff and watching me.

When I met his eyes, he smiled gently. He pointed to himself, and with two of his fingers he once more mimed a little walking man. Then he beckoned to me.

I sniffled and blinked at him owlishly. "Y-you want me to come with you?"

The monk nodded.

My frown turned suspicious. "Why?" I asked.

The monk pointed at me. Then he pointed at the teardrop tattoo near the corner of his eye.

My back stiffened. "What? Just because you feel sorry for me-"

The monk waved his hands and shook his head. Then he crossed his arms at the wrist and held them out in front of him, as if this should signify something.

When he saw my gormless stare, he sighed and seemed to think for a moment. Then he knelt in the grass instead. He clasped his hands in apparent prayer, then cast an obeisant look to the sky and pointed to his tattoo again.

I tried to unravel this. "It's a religious thing?" I asked. I was rewarded with an eager nod. "What?" I asked, and crossed my arms over my chest defensively. "Your church edicts tell you to go around helping lost, crying women?"

Something about my statement seemed to strike him as funny. He grinned and put his head to the side in a half-shrug, half-nod. _More or less,_ he seemed to be saying.

I looked around. I still felt a sense of dazed unreality. Was this a dream, I wondered? Or had I gone insane, and this was some kind of total-body hallucination? Was I still in the park, and people were taking wide circles around me while I talked to the thin air?

My mind shied away from the possibility that this might be real. The thought was too big. I couldn't even begin to fit it into my head.

Maybe that was why I caved in. After all, if none of this was real, what could it hurt to follow this guy wherever he thought we should go? It wouldn't change anything in the real world.

Or maybe it was just that, for some reason, I felt safe around the little bald monk. He radiated an aura of absolute serenity, and I wanted to huddle at his feet and soak up some of the calm. My nerves were an absolute wreck.

I looked sidelong at the monk. "Do you even have a name?" He nodded. "But you can't tell me." He pursed his lips, and shook his head helplessly.

For a moment, I felt worn out and blank and discouraged and wished that I could just wake up from this nightmare. I was alone except for a strange man whose name I didn't even know. My shoulders slumped.

Then an idea occurred to me, and I almost laughed. "What if I just gave you a name?" I asked. "Would that be okay?" I got a bemused nod, and I mulled it over for a moment. Then I grinned and snapped my fingers. He _did_ look a little like a Hare Krishna, after all. "I've got it," I said. "How about Harry? I think you'd make a good Harry."

The monk's smile was like the sun coming up. He clasped his hands in front of his heart and gave me a little bow.

I smiled back, tentatively. "Then Harry it is," I said, and held out my hand. "Um. Not that you're allowed to say it, but…my name's Rebecca. Just so you know."

The monk clasped my hand. I noticed that he had calluses on his fingers and on the palm of his hand, and I wondered where they came from.

Then my new friend made a comical face and waved his other hand in front of his nose, as if he'd just smelled something bad. He pointed at me. Then he pointed at the stream.

My mouth hung open. Then I closed it, and blushed. Belatedly, I realized that I probably reeked of alcohol and regurgitated lo mein and who-knew-what-else. "I smell, don't I?" I asked faintly. Harry nodded gravely. "Oh."

The monk gave me a sheepish look and pulled a bar of soap and a fresh towel from that seemingly infinite rucksack of his. He held them out to me.

"Fine, fine," I grumbled. I snatched the soap from his hands, my face hot. "I get the hint." I reached for the hem of my tank top and made to pull it over my head.

Harry whipped around so fast that I think he blurred.

I stared at the little man's back. A flush was creeping up the back of his neck, and his shoulders were stiff. "Wow. You really are a monk, aren't you?" I asked.

The flush made it to Harry's ears, turning them bright pink.

I couldn't help it. I started to laugh.

I was still laughing while I washed myself, and chuckling as I pulled my clothes back on and slipped my feet back into my sandals.

"So," I said, somehow feeling better than I had in weeks. "Where to?"

Harry pointed in a direction. I looked. His finger was pointing at a section of forest that looked like every other section of forest to me, but if this was a dream, did it really matter where we went?

After a little while, I shrugged. "I guess that way's as good as any other," I said.

And then, feeling strangely buoyant, I followed the monk into the trees.


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

_Author's Note: I know that monks in Faerun don't (or don't necessarily) take vows of celibacy, but Rebecca doesn't know that, so she's bound to make certain assumptions – and poor Harry's not likely to correct her._ _For one thing, explaining it would require him to make a lot of really embarrassing hand gestures._

* * *

  _Fill my eyes  
O __lithium sunset_  
_And take this lonesome burden_  
 _Of worry from my mind_  
 _Take this heartache_  
 _Of obsidian darkness_  
 _And fold my darkness_  
 _Into your yellow light_

_I've been scattered, I've been shattered_  
 _I've been knocked out of the race_  
 _But I'll get better_  
 _I feel your light upon my f_ ace

_Heal my soul  
O l_ _ithium sunset  
And I'll ride the turning world  
Into another night  
  
__-_ Sting, "Lithium Sunset"

* * *

The forest was a sight to behold. The pines were tall and straight, and their branches started up high, so that we walked beneath a cool green canopy. Thin beams of sunlight slanted through and made pools of light and shadow on the forest floor.

The air was pleasantly warm and pine-scented. Birds chirped. Woodland creatures rustled in the undergrowth. Once or twice, we glimpsed deer grazing among the distant trees.

_Fuck it,_ I thought. This place was gorgeous. I didn't even care if I was out of my mind, or just having a dream. Didn't I deserve a little vacation?

I decided to take things as they came. Real life would nail me between the eyes soon enough. I might as well enjoy this interlude while it lasted.

I strolled after Harry, my mind a perfect, blissful blank.

We hadn't been walking for very long when I began to notice a strange pattern of behavior from my monkish friend.

Every so often, Harry would stop and veer off of what appeared to be his chosen path. Then he would wander a few paces into the woods and inspect some plant with grave attention.

Then, if satisfied by what he saw, he would carefully snap off a leaf, or pluck off a flower, or collect a handful of berries and scoop them gently into one of his pouches.

After a few of these stops, I finally asked him what he was doing.

He looked at me with an expression that I was beginning to identify as his 'trying to think of how to explain things to Rebecca' face.

Then he took one of the pouches out of his rucksack and held it open for my inspection.

I sniffed it cautiously. It was the herbal tea that he had given to me before. "You mean that you're collecting herbs to make this stuff?"

He held his hand out and rocked it back and forth. _Kind of,_ I translated. So, I wasn't exactly right, but I was on the right track. I thought a moment and tried again. "You're collecting herbs for medicine?"

Harry gave me a thumbs up.

I felt a little thrill of triumph. I sniffed the tea again, trying to memorize its particular scent. "What does this tea do, anyway?"

Harry made a 'blech' face and mimed a fit of gagging.

I thought that I understood what he was getting at, but a little imp of mischief seized me all of the sudden. I decided to play deliberately obtuse. "You don't like it?" I asked innocently.

Harry shook his head. He clutched at his stomach and mimed all-out retching.

"You _really_ don't like it?" He gave me a long, level look. "Okay, okay. How about – I know! Is it a weight-loss aid?"

I was having fun. It was like a game of charades - except, in this case, with bodily functions as the subject. I wondered how long I could keep Harry going.

My question was answered when I felt a sharp, stinging rap on the top of my head.

That had _hurt_! I clutched at my head and stared at Harry incredulously.

The monk stepped away and smiled at me blandly, his walking stick in hand.

I hadn't even seen him move! "Jesus Christ!" I shouted. "What the hell was _that_ for?!"

Harry raised his index finger and waggled it back and forth chidingly. 'Tsk, tsk,' he seemed to be saying.

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "What did I do?" I asked plaintively. I looked at his walking stick. "And how the hell did you do that?" I hadn't even seen him _move_!

He cocked his head at me. Then he beckoned me closer.

I didn't budge. "Are you going to hit me again?" I asked warily.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head 'no'.

"Okay, then." I took two cautious steps forward. "How good are you with that thing?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. He leaned his staff against a nearby tree. Then he held out his hands, tapping each hand briefly on the opposite palm before holding his open palms out in front of me. He bent his fingers toward his palm a couple of times, briefly, in a _c'mere_ kind of gesture.

He seemed to want me to take his hands. I reached forward, hesitantly.

Gently and diffidently, as if he didn't want to frighten me, Harry placed my hands on the quarterstaff, one at a time, until I was left holding it all on my own.

Then he stepped back and looked me up and down. He frowned. He reached forward and adjusted my grip, sliding my hands to new positions and tapping his forefinger against my knuckles to make my fingers relax their death grip.

Eventually, he seemed satisfied and stepped back again.

Then he grinned at me and thumped himself in the chest, once.

I blinked at him. I held the staff awkwardly, despite Harry's careful corrections. The weight of it was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and it made the cuts on my palm throb painfully.

I looked down at the staff uncertainly. It was made of some kind of dark wood, like chestnut, and now that I was looking at it up close I could see that there was some kind of writing engraved all along its haft, though it was written in an alphabet which I didn't recognize. Some kind of flimsy-looking, silvery-green metal capped the staff at both ends.

"You want me to hit you?" I asked eventually. "Okay. I realize that this may be a rhetorical question, but…are you nuts?"

He tilted his head, then grinned and nodded. He thumped his chest again and stood with his arms wide open.

I didn't want to hit him. I'd never hit anyone in my life, and I didn't see a good reason to start now. "I don't know if this is a good idea-" I began.

A stinging pain in my shin stopped me. My leg buckled.

Harry had stopped moving almost before I'd realized what had just happened. He was back to his relaxed stance a moment after that.

"You kicked me!" I exclaimed indignantly. I couldn't believe it. What had happened to my nice, pacifistic little monk?

I registered a burning spike of pain in my other shin, and had to lean my weight on the quarterstaff to keep from toppling over. "You sneaky son of a bitch!" I shouted indignantly.

I just barely saw him shift his balance and lift his foot for the next one, and my next response came on autopilot.

Nice little monk or no nice little monk, I wasn't going to just stand there and let him beat the crap out of me.

I swung the staff.

I'm still not sure what happened next.

One second I was on my feet and swinging.

The next, I was flat on my back and seeing stars.

I didn't know where the staff had gone. Hell, I didn't even know how I'd gotten to be on the ground in the first place.

Harry's face rose into my field of vision like a small, round moon. He was smiling contritely, and his hand was extended towards me.

I blinked up at him. "I don't think I trust you anymore," I wheezed.

The monk's brown eyes took on a hurt puppydog expression.

"Don't look at me like that," I protested grumpily. "You hit me first!"

He lifted an eyebrow. Then he held up his hand, sideways to me, and flapped his thumb and fingers together. It took me a minute to realize that this was supposed to indicate a flapping mouth.

I frowned. "What, you think I talk too much?" I asked.

A so-so motion.

"You don't like the way I talk?"

Slight nod.

"You think I'm impolite?"

Emphatic nod.

"Well, screw you and the horse you rode in on!"

Significant eye roll and stern waggle of the index finger.

"Okay, so maybe you have a point. I'll try to behave. I _was_ raised to be a lady, you know."

Deeply skeptical quirk of the eyebrows.

"Hey, I didn't say that I was any _good_ at it. I just said that I was raised to be that way."

Harry grinned and offered me his hand again.

When he pulled me up, I grimaced in pain and looked at my hand. Blood was leaking through the by-now bedraggled gauze.

Harry followed my look and frowned. He took my hand in both of his and carefully peeled back the gauze. When he saw the way my palm was sliced up, he winced and patted my shoulder apologetically.

Then he led me over to a stump and motioned for me to sit.

I sat.

After some foraging in his rucksack, Harry produced a pouch of fine greenish powder. He uncorked his water skin and dribbled water onto the powder, mixing it with a twig until it turned into a paste. Then he began to smear the paste all over my palm.

I watched him work. The paste stung at first, making tears spring to my eyes, but gradually it began to numb the pain.

Then Harry began to wrap my hand in a strip of linen, also from that capacious rucksack of his. "What is that stuff you used?" I asked curiously. "It feels nice."

Harry finished tying off my bandage and stood. He looked around. Then he beckoned for me to follow.

He led me over to a low, woody bush that was almost hidden in the deep carpet of needles and loam. It had fat, rubbery leaves, beneath which grew a few bright red berries.

I looked at the bush. Then I looked at my hand. Then I looked at the bush again. "Is that the same thing as whatever you put on my hand?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh. So…do you grind it up or something?"

Harry made a so-so motion and pointed at the sky.

"Uh. I don't get it. Unless you're saying that your god grinds it for you, which I doubt. Gods don't do grunt work."

Harry pulled a leaf off of the plant, went to stand in the sunbeam, and then pointed from the leaf to the sky.

"Oh. You leave the leaf in the sun?"

Slight nod.

"So…uh. You dry it in the sun?"

Firmer nod.

"And then you grind it?"

Vigorous nod.

"Oh." I was reluctantly fascinated. I studied the bush. "Can I eat the berries?"

Frantic headshake followed by a forefinger drawn across the throat.

"Okay. So the berries are poisonous. Do not touch. Gotcha." I hesitated uncertainly. My hand felt better already. "Do you think I could learn how to make that salve?"

My little monk friend grinned from ear to ear.


	13. Chapter 13

The next few weeks blended together into one long, dreamlike haze.

In later days, I'd often go back over that time in my mind whenever I felt in need of a little peace.

We travelled at an easy pace, frequently stopping as Harry led me off the path to show me some interesting creeper vine or shrub or a growth of fungus on a hollow log.

And so began my peculiar new education.

Plant by plant, Harry demonstrated the medicinal properties and applications of what seemed like an entire forest full of flora.

And he did it all without talking.

A tiny white-and-yellow flower prompted Harry to lift his hand in a drinking motion and then to stretch out on the ground, pillow his head on his hands, and apparently drift off to sleep.

A little imp of mischief seized me. Once the monk's eyes were closed, I bent over and poked him in the ribs, grinning.

Without opening his eyes, Harry picked up his walking stick and rapped me lightly over the head with it.

A flat orange mushroom that grew in layers on a tree trunk was taken out into the sun, and then set over a small imaginary flame and the fumes inhaled after an exaggerated fit of coughing, sneezing, and forehead-wiping. I figured that was for upper respiratory infections, though I had to wonder who had first found that out and what kinds of experiences they'd had before they'd tried smoking this _particular_ mushroom.

At that thought, I began to giggle. Harry made a face and rapped me over the head with his staff to get me to stop.

Another type of mushroom was carefully pried loose from its brethren, dusted off, and examined with great attention. When I asked Harry what that one did, he grinned and popped it into his mouth, chewing with gusto. Some things, obviously, had purposes beyond the medicinal.

A prickly-leafed shrub was dried, simmered, and then drunk by Harry after he staggered around clutching at his head and looking agonized. That one, of course, was for headaches.

One type of berry, if you crushed it and then boiled its juices down to a syrup, then diluted a few drops of the syrup it in water, was good for heart trouble – at least, that's what I guessed by the way Harry gasped and clutched at his chest. Too large a dose, however, and it became toxic, and would make the patient wrap his hands around his throat and fall over backwards, eyes bulging. Which is exactly what Harry did.

I leaned against the nearest tree and laughed. Harry made a face and swung his quarterstaff smartly against the backs of my knees. I fell over with a yell. Then _he_ laughed.

I still didn't know the names of any of the plants which he'd shown me, but it turned out that Harry was a fan of pop quizzes. Every time we came across the same plant, he stopped and prompted me to recite all that I'd learned about it. By the tenth time, I could have identified that plant in my sleep. By the twentieth, what had once been mere scenery to my eyes began to form into distinctive elements. _The yellow flowers, those are for headaches,_ I recited to myself. _And that prickly shrub, that's for flu._

I was just a little disappointed by the fact that my teacher didn't seem to have any cures for venereal disease in his repertoire. I would have paid good money to see what kinds of gestures he came up with - even though he would probably have had to concuss me to get me to stop laughing at _that_ one.

We meandered along, stopping only for interesting vegetation or a bite to eat. There wasn't much in the way of vegetables to be found, but there were nuts and berries and edible mushrooms and tender wild onions, often eaten raw. I would have expected to despise this new diet, but I found that I didn't mind. I even enjoyed it. Somehow, everything tasted more of _itself_ than ever before. The berries burst with bright flavor, the onions were sweet, and the mushrooms were earthy and fragrant.

Sometimes Harry pulled out his slingshot and took down small birds on the wing, or rabbits on the leap. He would truss them to a branch and cook them over an open fire. He also made me a rucksack from the pelts. It was similar to his, and it carried what few belongings I had – including my jewelry, which I still seemed to have and which I had no intention of leaving in the middle of a forest somewhere, dream or no dream - with ease.

I was pointedly barred from cooking duty after I accidentally lit a pheasant on fire and Harry had to stamp it out. I didn't mind. Harry was a good cook. He could do incredible things with a pheasant – at least, any pheasant that wasn't already flat and charred.

He tried to teach me how to use the sling, too. I killed a lot of trees with it, but not much else. I was much better at catching trout, and I could stomach the idea of gutting and cleaning a fish much better than I could stomach the idea of doing the same thing to a bunny, so Harry let me do that instead. He did make sure that I still knew how to dress the rabbit, though.

The monk seemed to have taken it as his personal responsibility to teach me how to survive out in the wild, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that it didn't really matter. It wasn't as if I'd have any use for the skills once I woke up.

When the sun began to set, we looked for a sheltered, comfortable place to camp. Harry taught me to start a campfire, though mine tended to either burn hot and sputter out, or not catch at all. Harry patted me on the shoulder each time, his gesture a wordless reassurance that I'd get the hang of it eventually.

Then, after dinner, Harry lent me his staff and gestured for me to hit him.

I'd hesitated at first. The monk fought barehanded, and to me this seemed like he was just begging to get himself hurt.

As it turned out, this wasn't actually the case - for two reasons.

One: The staff was heavy and awkward and most of the time I was just glad when it didn't fly out of my hands or hit me in the chin when I swung it.

Two: Harry was fucking _impossible_ to hit. The little man moved like greased lightning. He blocked every strike, often with his bare hands, and frequently managed to land a bruising kick or a punch on me before I'd even recovered from my attack.

When Harry saw how bad I was in a fight, he seemed to take it as his duty to teach me how to defend myself. I didn't have the heart to tell him that that was useless, either. No one in my life had ever been this hell-bent on helping me out before - not without expecting some kind of payment or favor in return, anyway. That was how the world _worked_.

But Harry didn't seem to operate that way, and I didn't know how to respond to that. So I didn't. Bemused and confused, I just let Harry do his thing.

The monk taught me how to position my feet so that I could move during a fight. He showed me how to catch an incoming blow on the haft of the walking stick. When he saw my limp-wristed attempt at a punch, he taught me how to hold my arm, and how to make a proper fist. He showed me how to throw a kick, too, though I was bad at that. I always wobbled when my balance shifted, and my aim was terrible. I couldn't kick a tree trunk, much less a moving target.

After seeing how poor my balance was, Harry made me stand in place and hold strange poses for long, aggravating minutes. I began to ache in places that I hadn't even known I had.

Once, he showed me how to balance on my hands with my knees resting on my bent elbows and my feet in the air. Or rather, he did it, and I tried it, because he made it look so easy.

It wasn't easy _at all_. Also, it became pretty obvious that Harry's vow of silence didn't necessarily extend to laughter. I sent him into fits every time I toppled over.

Slowly, I got better at some things and less bad at others – although Harry still won all of our mock battles. I began to suspect that, if he really wanted to, this seemingly innocuous little man could seriously kick my ass.

He didn't, though, so I didn't let the suspicion bother me. Maybe I should have, but I felt comfortable with this odd little man who had apparently decided to take me under his wing. I felt safe.

If I hadn't believed it all to be a dream, I might have searched for an ulterior motive behind his many little kindnesses. I might not have befriended him, much less trusted him as I did.

But it _was_ a dream. So I allowed myself to believe that compassion like that really did exist. It was like believing in Santa Claus all over again.

At night, Harry lent me his cloak again, this time to lie on. The ground was sometimes lumpy and uncomfortable, but I was often so tired that I went to sleep the instant I closed my eyes, rocks or no rocks.

On the rare nights when I would lie awake for a while, I would wonder at the depth and detail of this dream of mine.

It had to be dream. There was no other explanation.

_Besides,_ a small, hopeful voice inside me said. _Maybe everything has been a dream, ever since_ that _night in the park. Every disaster, every fuckup. Everything that's gone wrong. Maybe it's all just a figment of my imagination._

I wanted that to be true, because if it were true, then maybe I would be waking up soon, to a life that was all back in order.

I might still have a job and a house. I might still have Sasha.

Dad might still be alive.

I closed my eyes on that comforting thought, and visions of herbal remedies danced through my head.

And then, days or maybe even weeks after I first woke up in that grassy clearing, the forest began to open up.

I didn't really notice it at first. But, gradually, I noticed that the light was more and the trees were less, and the air had changed in some fundamental way.

And then there came the day when our walking sticks thumped against stone instead of earth.

I looked ahead. There was a stone bridge over the now swollen stream, and cobblestones cut a swath through the trees.

We had reached the road.


	14. Chapter 14

  _That there  
That's not me_  
 _I go_  
 _Where I please_  
 _I walk through walls_  
 _I float down the liffey_  
 _I'm not here_  
 _This isn't happening_  
 _I'm not here_

  _-_ Radiohead, "How to Disappear Completely"

* * *

I woke up to find a hand clapped over my mouth.

My eyes popped open. "Mmmf!" I protested. Instinctively, I tried to sit up.

Another hand on my shoulder kept me down.

After a panicked moment, I identified the hands as belonging to Harry. I relaxed, puzzled.

The monk was crouched above me, his face pale and tense in the moonlight.

This was a pretty unusual thing to have happen, and I was feeling a little annoyed at being woken so rudely. I shot a quizzical glare at my friend.

Harry shot a warning look back at me and held his finger to his lips. Then he cupped a hand around his ear meaningfully.

Confused, I did as he asked.

At first, I couldn't hear a sound except for my own breathing.

Then, gradually, my ears began to pick other noises out of the night.

I heard the rustle of trees, and the sigh of a soft breeze.

Very faintly, I could hear Harry's breathing. It was slow and even, almost deliberately calm.

Then I heard a twig snap.

I went so still that I think I stopped breathing.

I heard a loud snuffle, like a dog scenting the air.

I heard a low, rumbling growl unroll across the night-time air.

A chill of primal fear ran up and down my spine.

There was something out there.

Harry cast me a worried glance. He laid his hand against my cheek, wordlessly reassuring. Then he held his hand out, palm-down, and lowered it towards the ground. He put his finger to his lips again.

If he wanted me to relax, he was going to have to wait a while – say, until whatever was out there took a long walk off a short pier. If he wanted me to shut up and stay down, though, he didn't have to ask me twice. I pressed my lips together and clutched at the grass to keep my hands from shaking.

My ears strained for every sound. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried to keep still and breathe steadily, like Harry was doing, but after a while, my muscles began to tremble and twitch with tension. The harder I tried to stay still, the worse the spasms became.

It got worse as the growling seemed to draw nearer. Now I could hear heavy footsteps crunching through the sparse undergrowth.

_Okay. It's time to wake up, now,_ I thought. I wanted to whimper. I tried to swallow it back. _Come on. This is only a dream. It'll end if I want it to. Just a dream._

_Come on. Wake the fuck up, Rebecca._

Nothing changed. The footsteps kept coming nearer.

A sob rose out of my throat. I couldn't help it. It happened before I could choke it back down.

I froze, horrified.

The footsteps stopped. Something barked - something which sounded for all the world like a calling hyena. Other barks responded, coming in from all directions.

_A hunting pack,_ I thought suddenly.

Then: _Oh god, oh god, oh god. They heard me._

There were more footsteps, and they were coming closer. The barks picked up in pace and urgency.

I felt Harry tense. I wanted to apologize for giving us away to whatever it was that was out there. I was too afraid to make a sound. I had gone straight from fear to blank, numb terror. All I found myself able to do was to lie on the ground and shake like a leaf.

Harry looked at me. His hand pushed down on my shoulder, hard, practically pinning me to the ground. The warning was clear, though his plan for getting out of this wasn't. _Don't. Move._

Then he rose to his feet and left, as quick and silent as the night breeze.

I was stunned. _Where are you going?!_ I wanted to scream. _Don't leave me here!_

Then I heard a snarl and a wordless shout, and I forgot about Harry's warnings entirely.

I had rolled over and risen to my hands and knees before I knew what I was doing.

The sight that met my eyes stopped me cold.

There was a group of hulking figures on the road outside my copse, but their silhouettes were incomprehensibly strange to me. I saw doglike muzzles and pointed ears, and then my eyes descended and I saw bodies that were built more like upright-walking gorillas than humans and had their knees jointed backwards but _still_ in no way belonged on something that had a head like a mastiff's.

They were big and shaggy and carried what looked like halberds and one of them was swinging his weapon at Harry and I rose to shout a warning but the sharp metal was moving so fast and I didn't see how Harry could possibly get out of the way in time…

…and then, impossibly, he did.

The monk's hand snapped up and caught the halberd by the haft. He yanked it towards him and then twisted and spun it into his own hands and I thought _hey, he did that to me once, too_ and then he was swinging it back around towards the dog-thing.

I heard a meaty thunk, and I saw the silhouette of the halberd quivering in the air, its blade suddenly sticking out of the gorilla-dog-thing's chest.

The creature jerked. It let out the scream of a wounded animal. I cringed and covered my ears.

Harry didn't stop moving. He finished his spin and then leapt into the air, moving so fast that he blurred. His foot lashed out at the top of his jump.

The kick connected solidly with the back of the halberd's head. I heard a loud crunch and watched as the monster's chest seemed to crumple inwards.

There was no second scream, just a breathless rasp and a long, choking gurgle.

Then Harry – sweet, mild-mannered, kind little Harry – jabbed his stiffened hand forward, straight into the monster's throat.

The blood sprayed out like water from a ruptured hose. The monster gurgled one more time, and went down.

_Oh my god,_ I thought distantly, stunned. _I think he just killed it._ It had been about twice his size, but he'd taken it down, like an ant felling a lion. _I can't believe he did that._

I watched in a trance, my heart jumping up into my throat with every beat. I was coasting somewhere beyond terror now, and I couldn't have moved a muscle even if I wanted to.

Harry turned to the next dog-beast without a pause. The monk's fists blurred, like he was playing a high-speed game of tic-tac-toe on the monster's chest. Some of the blows were punctuated by the gunshot snap of breaking ribs.

The dog-thing staggered back a step, snarling like an angry Rottweiler.

The snarl turned into a yelp of pain when Harry followed up his attack with a vertical leap and a snap-kick to the thing's snout. Its head jerked back.

I almost let out a scream when I saw a shape rise up behind Harry. _Look out!_ I wanted to cry, but the little man seemed to have some kind of sixth sense, and he ducked under the other dog-thing's swing without so much as glancing over his shoulder.

Then he threw himself into a backwards somersault, landed on his hands, and nailed the monster behind him in the face with both feet.

My jaw hung open. _Ho-leeeeee shit,_ I thought. _He's Bruce Lee. The man is motherfucking Bruce Lee._ How had I been alone in the woods with this man and not known that he could do this? _How?_

The monk dodged and spun and leapt and struck so fast that his motions ran together into one seamless, fluid dance. Watching him, I came to understand just how much he'd been holding back when we sparred. He darted among the monsters like a hornet amidst a group of rabid bulldogs, landing punches and kicks as he flew by.

The problem was that the group was big, and there was only one of Harry.

Eventually, one of the gnolls got through the monk's defenses. He folded over the hit and went flying backwards, only to turn it into an adroit roll and spring back to his feet.

I realized that I was standing, and I was holding on to my walking stick so tightly that my fingers were cramping. Harry didn't seem hurt, but there were so many of them and only one of him and I wished I knew what to do.

Another monster clipped my friend on the shoulder. He spun like a top and came out swinging, but I saw a spreading dark stain on the sleeve of his gray robes.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

I had to do something. But there were so many of them. But he was bleeding. But I was scared and I'd never been in a fight like this before. But he'd given me help when I needed it, _me_ , like I actually deserved that kind of consideration.

But, but, but, but, but.

My eyes darted around frantically. They fell on my feet, and then on a rock near my left foot.

_That's it!_ I thought triumphantly. I'd throw things at them. I had rocks. Since Harry hadn't taken his rucksack into the fight, I had a sling. That way I could stay out of the way and still help Harry!

I had terrible aim when it came to anything bigger than a tree-trunk – but then, those dog-things weren't much smaller than a tree, widthwise.

I fell to my knees and scrabbled for Harry's rucksack, panting. It had to be here somewhere, it had to be – _yes!_

I snatched the sling up and stood just in time to see Harry go sliding across the ground on his back. A dog-beast advanced on him. _Shit, shit, shit._ "Hold on!" I shouted, and grabbed the nearest rock.

I missed. I saw Harry bounce unsteadily to his feet, and I clawed frantically for another stone.

My second stone went better than I expected. It bounced off the back of the monster's head.

I'm not sure who saw me first – Harry, or the monster.

Either way, I had the sinking feeling that I'd just dropped us both into some seriously deep shit.

The monster's head turned. Its lip curled when it saw me.

Harry's eyes widened. He shook his head sharply at me, worry and fear flashing over his face like a lightning bolt. He made a frantic shooing motion. _Run!_

The monster wasn't as distracted. It turned back to Harry and took a long, sweeping swipe with its axe.

Harry tore his eyes from me and ducked, raising his arm to deflect the blow – too late.

The axe caught him a glancing blow to the head. He crumpled.

The dog-thing snorted scornfully at my friend's body while I stood by in horror.

Then it turned to me, and I saw it peel its lips back from its fangs and smile.


	15. Chapter 15

_I was walking down the high street  
_ _When I heard footsteps behind me  
_ _And there was a little old man (hello)  
_ _In scarlet and grey, shuffling away_

_Well, he trotted back to my house  
_ _And he sat beside the telly  
_ _With his tiny hands on his tummy  
_ _Chuckling away, laughing all day_

_Oh, I ought to report you to the gnome office  
_ _(gnome office?)  
_ _Yes  
_ _(hahahahaha!)_

_Ha ha ha, hee hee hee  
_ _I'm a laughing gnome and you don't catch me  
_ _Ha ha ha, hee hee hee  
_ _I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me_

_-_ David Bowie, "The Laughing Gnome"

* * *

 

"No!" The denial was automatic, desperate. It erupted from my throat _(like it had when they'd told me that dad was gone)_ as a hoarse cry, or maybe a plea. "No, Harry, get up, get up!"

The dog-thing stalked towards me, unhurried.

_Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god._ I backed away unsteadily. The creature kept coming.

I couldn't pull my eyes away from its axe. The forging was crude, and it looked like a torture implement from the dark ages, the iron all pitted and black.

I stumbled over a tree root – god _damn_ those things, always tripping me up – and fell. The impact jarred the breath out of me.

The thing's shadow fell over me. My heart juddered in my chest, and a panicked litany overtook my entire thought process.

_Oh my god I'm going to die oh my god I'm going to die oh my god I'm going to die._

Automatically, I curled into a fetal position, my arms wrapped protectively over my head.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit I'm going to die I'm so sorry Harry what the hell am I doing here I always fuck everything up oh god I'm going to die._

And then, as I cowered in the dirt and waited for the axe to fall, there came a bright and blinding light.

There was a metallic tang on my tongue, a tingle in my skin, and a crackle in the air.

I wondered if this was what dying felt like.

"Ha-ha! Have at you, vermin!" someone cried. "Tally-ho! Take that!"

Another flash of light left red and yellow spots flashing on and off on the insides of my closed eyelids.

"Ooh! I'll bet that tingled!" The voice – male, but high-pitched, with a weird timbre to it - sounded smug. "All right, then! How about a bit of Melf to round things out?"

I heard a hiss and smelled something acrid. One of the dog-things screamed.

Elsewhere, fleshy thwacks and pained cries filled the air.

I heard the scrape of a footstep nearby. "Over here! Magister!" someone called.

More footsteps hurried towards me. "Gond's Goolies! Is the young lady alive?" someone, that man with the weird, high voice asked. I wasn't sure of the answer, myself.

Gentle hands reached out for me. They ran over me impersonally.

I was shaking. I couldn't stop shaking. "No obvious injury," someone said. "Nerves seem a mite rattled, though."

I opened my eyes. "Harry," I gasped. I struggled against the hands that held me. "God damn it, let me go! Where is he? What happened?"

"Now, now, my dear," the strange man soothed. "Calm yourself. Your friend took a good knock on his head, but we've already gotten a potion into him, so he should be right as rain in a twinkling, don't you fret."

A woman snorted. "We are wasting our stores on him," she said scornfully. "The Ilmateri love to martyr themselves. Let him enjoy his headache."

"Oh, fiddlesticks and folderol. I know my inventory better than you, Hana. I can always brew another potion. As for this young lady-" A hand moved into my field of vision. It waved up and down in front of my nose. "Halloo, young lady! Are you all right? A thousand apologies, but you do seem a tad overset…"

I blinked my eyes, trying to clear them. I was still seeing spots. "I…I don't know," I said shakily. I tried to stand. "There were these…things…Harry fought them…he told me to hide…I…I tried, but…then they started hitting him…"

"Tough little bugger, he is," someone said admiringly. "Fought five gnolls all on his lonesome, eh?"

I pressed the backs of my fingers to my mouth. My lips were trembling. I didn't understand much of what these people saying. I didn't care. "Where is he?" I demanded, my voice muffled against my hand.

"Now, my dear, just relax. You've had a nasty shock-"

"Oh, bullshit! I'll _give_ you a nasty shock if you don't let me see him!" The words just popped out. I wondered where the calm, collected press-secretary had gone. _She lost her notes,_ I thought. _And she was never very good at improv._ My voice quavered. "Now where is he?"

I'd heard that head wounds bled a lot. I tried to remind myself of that as I knelt next to Harry. It probably looked worse than it was.

_Just a dream,_ I repeated to myself. _This is just a dream, it's not really happening._

The problem was that the blood looked awfully real, and Harry's face was awfully pale, and even if he was just a figment of my imagination, I felt terrible for letting this happen to him.

I should have listened to him. If I had, he wouldn't have gotten distracted and then gotten hurt. How did I always manage to do _exactly_ the wrong thing, even in my own dreams?

"There, there," the man with the odd voice clucked at me. He patted me on the shoulder. "I assure you, my dear, it looks much nastier than it is."

"Aye," one of the other men agreed. "Those Ilmateri skulls are tough."

"Thick, you mean," the woman said darkly. "Magister, surely you don't intend to take them along-"

"Oh?" The one they called Magister sounded curious. "Why not?"

The woman's voice was despairing. "Because this is a merchant caravan, not a damned roving charity!"

"Oh, pish-tosh. You and your obsession with freeloaders, Hana. You know, you should _really_ give my tranquility solution a try, my dear. 'Tis the pickled graal eyes that give it its special potency, you see – none like it in all Faerun, I promise you! No, no," the man said, and gave me another solicitous pat on the shoulder. "The young lady and her monk may come with us, at least as far as Yartar. We'll just have to bump up to make room, that's all."

I ran my fingers through my hair, only half-listening. I still wasn't entirely caught up on current events. My brain sparked and sputtered like a car with a misfiring engine.

Eventually, though, a few things managed to penetrate the fog. "Wait a minute," I said, standing up slowly. "What's this about…Yartar? Caravans? Who are all of you people? Where did you come fr-" I turned, and finally got a good look at the man with the high-pitched voice. "-om," I finished weakly. My eyes began to water.

I couldn't be seeing what I was seeing. It wasn't possible. Not in a sane world. Not in any world I knew.

The issue wasn't just that his head only came up to my waist. And, if his sharp eyebrows and pointed nose and pointed chin (and the pointed beard on the end of the pointed chin) made him look a little like a ferret, well, that was nature's fault, not his.

No, if I had to pinpoint what was really bothering me, it wasn't the strange man's height or his face that did it.

It was the fact that he looked like a color blind escapee from a goddamned Victorian-era insane asylum.

He might even have been able to sell the purple satin waistcoat as a quirky and daring fashion choice, if he had paired it with something a little more subdued. He hadn't. What he'd paired it with, instead, was a green velvet frock coat with patched elbows. The velvet was balding and moth-eaten in places. It looked like it had seen better days. Lace spilled out at his throat and wrists, but it had seen better days, too. It was yellow, and there were acid stains and scorch-marks all around the cuffs.

And why, why, why had he decided that yellow knee-breeches with little white bows at the knee were _the_ style to be seen in this season? And were red suede shoes with brass buckles _ever_ a good idea, for anyone?

His outfit didn't just clash. It engaged in all-out thermonuclear warfare.

The most confusing thing of all, however, was his hat.

The hat was mostly grey, but patched here and there with pieces of felt in seemingly random colors. It was tall. It came to a point, though it went through a couple of ninety-degree bends before it got there. Its point bobbed just beneath my nose as the man spoke. I found my eyes crossing as I tried to focus on it.

There were all sorts of things on that hat. There were handwritten notes, pinned to the felt with thumbtacks. There were mysterious little vials, all attached with pieces of string and left to bob and dangle freely. There were glass beads. There were stick pins. There were needles, together with their thread. There were pockets. There were even, I thought, the knobs for little pull-out drawers.

There was also a dead raven on the wide brim, its scrawny little legs sticking straight up in the air. It had to be dead. Living birds were generally livelier than that.

I wondered if anyone had ever told the man about the bird. I doubted it. It was something he was bound to notice sooner or later, wasn't it? Besides, how would you phrase it? _"Hey, mister, don't look now, but – about your hatter? I think he might have been one of the mad ones."_ No. That probably wouldn't go over well at all. Best to let him figure it out in his own time.

I felt a giggle bubbling up. I quashed it by thinking of Harry. Now wasn't the time to be laughing – and if I started now, I probably wouldn't stop until I hit full-blown hysterics.

The strangely-dressed gentleman beamed at me genially. "What's the matter, my dear?" he asked. "You seem a little flabbergasted. Could it be – aha! I know!" He snapped his fingers triumphantly. "You would like my autograph! Word gets around, so it does, and what adventurer worth his – or her, of course - salt wouldn't like a keepsake from a world-famous prestidigitator such as myself?" He held up his hands. "But I'm afraid I can't do it. So sorry, young lady, a thousand, no, _ten_ thousand apologies, but Theodoric Fimblewhumper Dalyrymple Tefflewort the Third never puts a pen to paper or to any other surface you care to name if it means applying his signature thereto, you see. Now, now, chin up...I do hate to disappoint my fans, but like my old Nanny Agnes always said, "Teddy," she said to me, "Your Pappy signed where he shouldn't've, and before two days had passed the Law knew what he'd eaten for supper, his shoe size, and the color of his underwear, so never you sign a thing, lest you end up like your Pappy," she said. O' course, they knew all of that because they caught him, gave him his last supper, hanged him the next morning, and then nicked back everything he had on him and then some. We never did find out where his knickers fetched up, either, though in retrospect I suppose that was for the best. Ahh, but dear Old Pappy never did know when to quit..."

It was getting harder and harder to keep myself from having a public meltdown. "Are you in politics, by any chance?" I asked, my voice strained.

That got his attention. "Not at all," he said, mystified. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you just managed to talk for about ten minutes straight and you _still_ haven't given me a clear answer."

"An answer? I beg your pardon. Did you ask a question?" His face cleared. "Oh! Yes, yes, now I recall. You wished to know where we came from? Why, from just down the road, my dear, and lucky for you that we were! This part of the road has been crawling with gnolls – as I see you've discovered – and my scouts have been amusing themselves by springing gnollish ambushes. They can be such a nuisance – the gnolls, that is. Ahem. Not my scouts."

I looked at the bodies. I looked at Harry's pale face. "A nuisance," I repeated flatly. "Is that what you call it?"

"Oh, yes, but you needn't worry about that, young lady. You see, I," the little man said, and gave me an elaborate bow, "- am Theodoric Fimblewhumper Dalyrymple Tefflewort the Third, and I am the world's most preeminent purveyor of potions, philters, and nostrums! The tycoon of tinctures! The sultan of salves! I have raised my stall in the Street of Silks, flogged my wares on Waukeen's Promenade, peddled fireflowers in Neverwinter, and hawked winterberries in the souks of Calimshan!" He beamed up at me, his eyes bright. "And _you,_ my dear girl, are my guest!"


	16. Chapter 16

  _It's crazy, I'm thinking  
__Just knowing that the world is round  
__And here I am dancing on the ground  
__Am I right side up or upside down?  
__Is this real, or am I dreaming?_

\- Dave Matthews Band, "Crush"

 

* * *

 

I dabbed Harry's forehead pensively.

The walk to this Theodoric's camp had been interesting. I'd never been around so many edged weapons before.

The guards – at least, I assumed they were guards, because they were all armed and armored and had formed up around us like a security detachment – hadn't been hostile. Not exactly. But they hadn't sheathed their weapons until we'd reached the camp, and I'd been on tenterhooks the whole way. I hadn't known if they'd been on guard against monsters or against me, and I hadn't wanted to give them any reason to think I was a threat - just in case they decided to remove my head first and ask questions later.

I could have told them that they were wasting their energy. What was I going to do against a dozen armed guards? Harry – though I was still having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that the sweet little monk had such a huge can of whoop-ass at his disposal - might have been able to take them all on barehanded, had he been awake. But he wasn't.

I carried on with my dabbing, a little aimlessly. I'd heard somewhere that you were supposed to do that for unconscious invalids. So I did it. It was better than doing nothing.

"So," I said conversationally, after a while. "I'm not sure, but I think we've just been taken hostage by an animate garden gnome."

Harry didn't respond. I didn't expect him to, but I needed some way to fill the silence.

"He let us use his own tent, mind you. That's his cot you're busy counting sheep in. Enjoy it. I think the rest of us get the ground."

No reaction.

"He seems nice enough, I suppose." I shifted my weight carefully on the folding chair I'd managed to scrounge up, tilted the bedside jug, and poured a little more water onto the rag. The water was nice and cool, and the cloth was getting lukewarm. "But then, most people do. You only find out later that they were lying to you all along."

The monk had a magnificent bruise forming all over the side of his head. I could have sworn that his scalp had been split – where else could all of that blood have come from? – but now the only sign of such an injury was a thin pink seam across his temple.

_I guess anything can happen in a dream,_ I thought. _I just wish mine would stop turning into a nightmare._

I held the cloth against the bruise and watched Harry's face. His breathing was deep and even. Even asleep, he gave off a sense of absolute centeredness.

" _You_ aren't like most people, are you?" I said, after a while. "You really are what you seem. You help people for a living, and you honestly don't want anything in return." I laughed shortly. "Funny, isn't it? _I_ lie to the public for a living, and the first person I meet in this place is an honest mute."

"The Ilmateri can be like that," a voice agreed sagely. "Lovely folk. A kindly god, that Ilmater. Good to have around if you need kittens rescued from trees or small children retrieved from wells and so forth. Of course, some people say that Tyr is the god to turn to for that sort of thing, but Tyr's a bit nearsighted these days, and plate mail is such a bugger to climb trees in."

I hadn't heard anyone enter, and the sudden interruption made me jump like a startled cat.

That was when I learned something important about camp chairs. Namely, that they fold – not only when you want them to, but especially when you don't.

For example, when it comes to sudden shifts of weight, it doesn't particularly matter which direction you go. Jump up or back or to the side, but if you happen to be sitting on a camp chair at the time, the only direction you're about to be going in is _down._

The chair I'd been sitting on buckled beneath me. I yelped and went down in a tangle of legs and canvas.

"Oh, my goodness!" Footsteps hurried over to me. A pointy hat and a bright-eyed, ferretlike face leaned into my field of view. "A thousand apologies, my dear!" the gnome burbled. "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right? I would have knocked first, but 'tis a mite hard to knock on canvas, I've found…though rumor has it that the great Bigby himself once came close! They say that he formulated an experimental version of the knock spell by combining it with one of his own creations, though it was never quite clear which one. There was a time when I grew quite convinced that I'd uncovered the principle, but….well, let's just say that at first blush it might _seem_ like a boon to have an interdimensional rift in your study, I'll grant, but just you wait until a pack of rakshasa ruins a perfectly good Halruaan carpet – hand-woven, no less! - and see how enthusiastic you are then, eh? Oh, but I shan't bore you with the details-"

"That's very kind of you," I said dazedly. One of the stool legs felt like it was trying to wedge itself between my ribs. "Do you know what else would be kind of you?"

"What's that, my dear?"

" _Helping me out of this fucking chair._ "

I hadn't meant to snarl like that. All else aside, it probably wasn't wise to offend a man who had a dozen armed guards at his disposal.

I hadn't meant to. It just sort of happened. _Story of my life,_ I thought.

I was lucky, though. The gnome didn't seem to be offended. Maybe it was because he was too busy talking to actually listen to what I'd said. "Oh, yes, yes, of course, what a mudgin I am!" he babbled on. His ink-stained fingers clasped mine, and he helped me to my feet, fussing at the mess. "I do hope that you were not injured. No? Oh, good, good, now, what was I about to say…oh, yes! Now ,where did that divining rod go?" He patted his waistcoat abstractedly. Then he brightened and reached up to pull a strange ivory rod out of his hatband. "A-ha! I knew I'd left it here somewhere. Now, let's see-" Before I could react, the little man muttered something incomprehensible and waved the rod up and down in front of me like a security wand. "Hmm, hmm, yes, just a touch of bilocational resonance here in the aura, just as I thought. Slight disjunction in your temporal field – aha! I see that my suspicions were correct. I do so love it when I'm right – don't you?" Then the gnome stuck his rod into one of the pockets of his coat and beamed at me. "So!" he said heartily. "We have a visitor from another world! Welcome, welcome, young lady! I must say, it _is_ a privilege. I meet so few planar travelers these days. Tell me, from where do you hail? From the looks of you, I'd say that you stepped in from another corner of the Prime. Am I correct?"

If I had been stunned before, this question just floored me. I opened and closed my mouth several times. Nothing came out.

The gnome rubbed his beard and squinted up at me thoughtfully. "What's the matter?" he asked sympathetically. "Tressym got your tongue? Nasty little buggers, they are, I would not blame you for a moment," he went on confidingly, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. "One of them got my cousin Bartholomew, you know. One moment it was, 'oh, what a pretty little kitty', and the next, why, feathers everywhere, and you could hardly see for the spray!" The little fellow threw his arms wide. Then he dropped his dramatic pose and tucked his thumbs under his tattered lapels. "It just goes to show, you never can tell," he said sagely. "Take it from me, young lady - you can never trust anything of Elvish make to do anything except to throw a cog and savage innocent gnomes. Say, did you know Bartholomew? No? You looked so stunned, I thought, my goodness, I'm such a mudgin, I might be giving you terrible news and not even know it! No matter, no matter. We never liked him much anyway, to tell you the truth, and we were glad to see the end of him – well, not that particular end, what odds and ends of him we could find we had to put in a jelly jar – or was it a jam jar? I always get them confused - anyway, it was smaller than a breadbox, I can tell you that much, and we had to post it back to his sister in Cormyr and, I say, we might have been able to do without that as well! Have you any idea of the courier costs between Leuthilspar and Suzail? It's highway robbery without the highway, I tell you...oh, bless his little cotton socks, Bartie really was a right bastard. He even reached out from the grave to inconvenience his poor dear family - but an end's an end, as they say, and he was asking for that one, after what he did to our uncle Algernon. Well, he – she, that is, she wants us to call her aunt Agatha now, but it'd be a funny old world if we were all the same, that's what I always say, and anyway it's not this old gnome's place to judge, eh? But, anyway, as I was saying, I, eh..." The little fellow scratched the side of his long, pointed nose. "What was I saying again?" he asked.

I blinked. "I have no idea," I said weakly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, that's right! Planar travel! Now, now, my dear, don't look so worried. Your secret is safe with me. But I sense that you are feeling a little lost – chose the wrong portal, perhaps? No matter, it happens to the best of us. Why, I myself once stepped into what I had taken for a portal to the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Salt – I was making my famous lamb pie, you see, and nothing brings it up like a little sprinkling straight from the flats of Qort – just to find myself in the Astral Plane. Instead of salt, I ended up with some angry slaadi on my plate, and let me tell you, that's no picnic at all." The gnome patted my arm. "But I just happened to have a few lightning bolts at my disposal, so all's well that ends well, eh? Though I still maintain that a side of roast slaad is no match for a good mincemeat pie, no matter what my dinner guests say."

My overstrained brain finally kicked into gear. Sort of. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked bewilderedly. "Slaadi? Lamb pie? Astral Planes? Disjunctions in my _what_?"

"In your temporal field. Even during intraplanar travel – that is, travel from one location to another within the same plane – there may be slight fluctuations in the flow of time from one world to the next. Nothing to speak of, of course – if you travel within the Prime, the difference is likely to be mere milliseconds over the course of a human lifetime – but it can be detected by a sufficiently sophisticated spell. Which, needless to say, mine was." He paused, and looked at my face. "Oh, my," he said then. "You really are lost, aren't you?"

_This is only a dream. This isn't really happening. Only a dream._

Of course, if this was a dream, then my subconscious mind must have been even more of a mess than I'd thought. "Completely," I said, my voice sounding far away and dazed, even to my own ears.

I felt a pat on my arm. "Never fear, my dear," the gnome said. "You have fallen into good hands. Remarkable spot of luck there, I expect, though you might want to keep your origins to yourself from now on. There are some who might try to take advantage." His face turned speculative. "In fact, I may be able to help you with that," he murmured. He rubbed his hands together. "Yes, yes, 'tis a brilliant solution, if I do say so myself."

Suspicion gelled deep in my gut. "What kind of help?"

"Why, the best kind, my dear – that which is mutually beneficial to both of us!" His eyes danced. " _You_ may travel with my caravan for as long as you wish, and along the way I shall strive to impart some of my vast knowledge unto you-"

I narrowed my eyes. _This_ was more like the world I knew – the world of negotiation and mistrust, of I'll-scratch-your-back-and-you'll-scratch-mine. I latched onto the familiarity. "So what's the catch?" I asked.

"Catch? My dear lady, must there be a catch?"

I smiled thinly. "There's only one person in this room – sorry, tent - who helps people purely out of the goodness of his heart," I said. "And he's unconscious right now."

"Oh, my gracious." The gnome seemed shocked. "My dear, I must object to your characterization of me! Do I truly seem so cold-blooded to you?"

"Some of the most cold-blooded people I've known were also some of the most charming." And with my dream turning so sour, I wasn't willing to make any more concessions, the way I had with Harry. "Besides, this caravan must not be cheap to run. Why would you take on an extra pair of mouths to feed without expecting some kind of compensation?"

"My goodness. Such cynicism in one so young." The gnome peered up at me, seeming to see me for the first time. "My, my," he sighed. "Very well. Since you will not believe in my sincerity, I beg you to at least listen to my proposal. 'Tis not so onerous, I promise you."

"I'm listening, Mister-" I trailed off, uncertain which of the little man's many names I ought to be using. I settled on the last one. "Mister Tefflewort."

"Oh, call me Teddy, do," he said with a negligent flutter of his hands. "I try to get Hana and her men to do so, but it's always 'Magister' this and 'Magister' that and 'Sir' every which way and quite frankly it makes me feel like such an old fogey. Why, my Nanny Agnes reached the ripe old age of four-hundred-and-seventy-three, and I've only just gone two-fifty. Can I really be so old?"

I blinked again. There were so many things wrong with that sentence that I didn't even know where to begin. I stayed silent, trying to digest the indigestable.

"As I was saying, then," the little guy went on, "I propose an exchange of information. I will give you a place to stay and information about this world. You, in return, will tell me all about your own!" He beamed. "What do you think of that?"

I decided to ignore the things which I hadn't understood – like four-hundred-year-old women - and concentrated on those which I thought I could just about grasp. "What kinds of things would you like to know?" I asked warily.

"Why, anything you would care to tell me, my dear!" Teddy exclaimed. His nose twitched in excitement. "There is no such thing as useless knowledge, and I have long been curious to know about worlds other than our own – _my_ own, I should say, though I do of course wish you a pleasant stay for however long you should choose to remain here."

I mulled it over. Try as I might, I couldn't see a disadvantage. It wasn't as if I was privy to any state secrets or had the blueprints for any dangerous technology, after all. What harm could a bit of cultural trivia do? Especially since none of this was real.

Besides, I was shaken. There was so much about this dreamworld that I didn't know, and I was afraid that my ignorance would kill Harry next time. _Or me._ Was it possible to die in your own dream? I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out.

That didn't mean I was going to say yes right away, though. I wanted to talk it over with Harry, first, and I said as much, adding, "Whenever he wakes up."

The gnome furrowed his eyebrows at me. "But, my dear, haven't you noticed?" he said mildly. "Your friend has been awake for the past half a candlemark now."

 My jaw dropped. I spun.

Harry smiled at me sheepishly.

"You're awake!" I exclaimed, and rushed over to my friend's side. I stumbled a little in my haste. "Jesus, Harry, why didn't you say anyth-" I stopped. "Oh," I said. "That was a stupid question, wasn't it?"

The monk nodded gravely. Then he winced and raised a hand to his head.

"You have a headache?" Nod. "A-all right. I'll make you some tea."

I turned away, holding my hand to my mouth to keep a sob of relief in.

My eyes met Teddy's, and I stopped abruptly. I'd forgotten that he was even there. "I shall go and see how Hana is doing with the supply wagons, shall I? She ought to greatly appreciate my assistance," the gnome said brightly. He nodded to a brazier in the corner of the room. "You should find a kettle right over there. Do let me know if you need anything, my dear."

I nodded mutely. I didn't trust myself to speak.

The gnome left. I turned to the brazier, which was thankfully already lit – I didn't know why my dream was so low-tech, but there didn't seem to be much I could do about it - and busied myself with measuring a handful of yellow flowers into a cup.

I wiped beneath my eyes with my fingertips. _Big girls don't cry,_ I reminded myself. _Get a hold of yourself, Rebecca._

The water was already steaming. I took the kettle off of its hook, poured the water over the petals, and stirred the tea until I thought I'd gotten myself back under control. The petals were looking a little battered, by the time I was done.

I set the spoon down and took a deep breath.

Then I took the mug over to Harry and sat on the edge of the cot, gingerly. I wasn't about to try the camp chair again.

I watched him drink. He kept squinting one eye at a time, over and over, as if they weren't quite working properly.

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry," I blurted. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should have listened to you." I blinked rapidly. "Go ahead and…and hit me over the head or something. You'd be right to."

Harry paused. Then he set aside his tea and beckoned me closer.

I leaned forward hesitantly. "What?" I asked. "What is it?"

The monk leaned in close and studied me critically.

Then he reached up and rapped his knuckles sharply against my forehead.

I reeled back, clasping my hands to my head. "Hey!" I yelped. "What was that f-" I paused. "Oh," I said. "Yeah. I did just ask you to do that, didn't I?"

Harry nodded. His brown eyes twinkled.

Then he patted my cheek fondly, picked up his tea, and everything was all right again.


	17. Chapter 17

The caravan passed through the village of Longsaddle to resupply.

All I wanted to do once we stopped was to sit down on something that wasn't moving. When the caravan started moving, Harry and I had found a spot on one of the supply wagons, and I'd soon been left longing for asphalt paving and a vehicle with decent suspension.

The road we'd travelled was like something from Roman times, all cobblestones and monolithic mileposts. Every single bump and jolt that the wheels hit – and boy, were there a lot of them - I felt.

Somewhere around halfway to Longsaddle, everything from the waist down had started to go numb. Walking was out of the question. Even sitting was iffy. My ass felt like one big bruise, when I could feel it at all. All I wanted to do was find some stationary surface where I could lie flat on my back and feel sorry for myself.

My host would hear none of it. "Go on, go on," Teddy urged, shooing me away from our campsite. "Go into town. Have fun. See the sights. Get some shopping done." He winked. "I guarantee, you have never seen a place like this one," he promised. "You will not want to miss it."

I gave in grudgingly, mostly because saying 'no' would have entailed a long debate, which I wasn't in the mood for.

I rubbed some circulation back into my legs and recruited Harry, who kindly lent me his arm and helped me stagger into town.

The village sat straddling the road – the Long Road, as Teddy called it. In some ways, it had practically taken over the road, which bifurcated and sometimes even trifurcated as it meandered through the center of town.

The walls of the houses were whitewashed, and the roofs were thatched. High on a hill in the center of town sat an ivy-covered mansion. Pastures mantled the hillside, which was just starting to turn golden beneath the late summer sun.

There was a market just off of the main road. It looked like something straight out of a medieval tapestry – striped tents, bawling vendors, and livestock milling right in the middle of the street.

Of course, what the tapestries couldn't have communicated was the noise – or the smell.

"Get your fine fish here!" one man hollered. "Fresh trout, dried trout, smoked trout, boiled trout, pickled trout, Hells, any trout you please, all fresh from Saddle Pond!"

He needn't have shouted. I was amazed that there wasn't a green haze over the stall. The pickled trout had a presence all its own.

"Stirrups, spurs, and sundries!" another one shouted. He had a weird blueish tint to his skin, and his hair was white, though he didn't look that old to me. "Provided courtesy o' the Leapin' Hooves! Got horseflesh? We've got somethin' you're likely to need!"

"First season's apples in!" bellowed a man surrounded by piles of produce. "Get 'em while the gettin's good! Apples, blueberries, blackberries, cloudberries, we've got it all! Step up, step up, good folk! This fruit's so ripe it's ready to walk away o' its own accord!"

A man in motley sidled by, smiling at me. "Flowers for the lady?" he half-asked, half-sang, and when he flourished his empty hand towards me, a sprig of little white bellflowers appeared in it.

I took the sprig automatically, and watched as the man danced away, his motley rags fluttering.

After a moment, I heard a soft chiming, and looked down. The flowers swayed in my hand, tinkling like...well, like little bells.

I blinked, and raised the bellflowers to my nose, suddenly wondering what they smelled like.

As soon as they'd reached my nose, though, the flowers vanished with a faint pop.

I stared at my empty hand, my eyes bulging slightly. "What the-" I said faintly.

A robed man bustled by with a load of lumber on his shoulder. The wood was straight and silver-pale, and the still-attached leaves were the color of deep water. "Excuse me, out of the way, fresh blueleaf coming through!" he shouted.

I stepped out of the way hurriedly, watching him go with what must have been an especially shellshocked expression.

I bumped into something and looked down.

Something huge and bristly and gray turned a beady eye on me and went, "Gwwaarrnk?"

I jumped back, practically into Harry's arms. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed. "What is that thing?"

The monk's lips twitched. He lifted his finger and pressed it to the end of his nose, turning it up like a pig's. Then he gave me a bemused squint and shook his head at me.

I realized that I was clutching his arm for dear life. I let go. "Don't give me that look," I protested weakly. "That's no ordinary pig." I was a city girl. The pigs that I knew were pink and curly-tailed and went 'oink' - or they came already sliced and stir-fried. They weren't these stinking, steaming monstrosities with tusks as long as my arm. "Sheesh. It's enough to put you off pork for a lifetime."

Harry chuckled at me. I harrumphed, gathered the tatters of my dignity about me, and moved on.

There was a wire pen on the far side of the market. It was quiet, with no vendor out front.

I peeked in. There was a group of white rabbits in the pen. They milled around and nibbled at the grass, wiggling their fluffy little tails. "Now these are much nicer," I remarked to Harry. I knelt. "Cootchie-cootchie-coo," I crooned at the bunnies. "Aren't you just the cutest little-"

One of the bunnies looked up at me. Its eyes glinted red.

Then it gave a feral little shriek and launched itself at the fencing.

I gave a bloodcurdling scream of my own and jumped backwards so fast that I tripped and hit the grass, ass-first. "Sweet motherloving Jesus!" I shrieked. "What the hell kind of a rabbit do you call that?"

"They're Malarites," spoke up a passing man. He was dressed in some kind of long, loose shirt and cloth-wrapped leggings, and he was leading a goat on a rope halter. "Followers of the Beast God and his Bloody Hunt." He spat. "Two sects of 'em wanted to found a church here. Well, they soon fell to fighting amongst themselves, such bein' their nature, and the good wizards Harpell decided to end the ruckus by spellin' those Malarites into what ye see here." He pointed at the pen and grinned. "'Tis a fine fate for their ilk, aye?"

I hadn't understood the half of that. I nodded anyway. The bunny was hanging onto the wires by its teeth. Its red eyes were fixated on me. A low, steady growl rumbled in its throat. "I see," I said faintly. "So now they just try to eat people. Fancy that."

Harry had to help me to my feet. I held on to his arm with both hands, and this time I didn't let go. "Killer bunnies," I muttered shakily. "And here I thought I'd seen it all."

Harry didn't bother with chuckling that time. He out-and-out laughed at me, until I mock-punched him in the shoulder. Then he laughed even harder, his shoulders shaking with his mirth.

I wandered through the market, clinging to Harry's arm and feeling like a wide-eyed tourist lost in the big city.

The problem was that I was a big city girl. I'd seen more oddities on the way to work every day than most people saw in a lifetime. I'd thought that no sight could surprise me, jaded as I was.

A door banged open. Someone bustled out into the street, nearly barreling into me in the process.

"Oy!" he shouted. "Watch where yer goin', ya buffleheaded bint!"

My reply was almost instinctive. "Well, maybe if you pulled your head out of your a-" I stopped. Unbidden, my jaw sagged.

The man in front of me was short, stocky, and had a long, braided blonde beard, a horned helmet, and an axe with a blade that was bigger than my head.

It was as if someone had stuck a Viking in a trash compacter and squished him until he was about half his former height and twice as broad across the shoulders. And boy, was he angry about it.

The miniature Viking scowled up at me. His bushy eyebrows drew together. "What?" he barked. "Have ye never seen a dwarf before?"

Shock rendered me honest. "Um. No?" I answered meekly.

I saw the so-called dwarf draw himself up – as far up as he could go, anyway - no doubt ready to rip into me.

I gulped. Great job, Rebecca. Now he's pissed.

And I'm about to piss. Myself.

Then his eyes flickered to something just over my shoulder. He grimaced and backed down. "Bah," he spat. "Human chit's not worthy of a fight, anyway." Then he stomped off.

I blinked and frowned, wondering what had just happened.

Then I turned and saw Harry nonchalantly holding his quarterstaff in both hands, in a loose and ready way which implied that he wasn't necessarily going to use it, but he was keeping the option open. Also, he had stopped smiling, which was unusual.

My forehead wrinkled. I had a strange, sneaking suspicion… "Did you just-" I looked after the half-height Viking, then back to the nondescript little bald man in his equally nondescript gray robes. "Did you just scare him off?"

Harry gave me a bland stare. Then he shifted his walking stick to his right hand, laid his left on my back, and gently steered me back towards the market.

"You did, didn't you?" I persisted. I felt oddly flattered. No one had ever been willing to get into a fight for me before - though I wasn't sure how an angry Viking, even a short one, could possibly find Harry that intimidating. Maybe this dwarf had known something I hadn't. "Wow. How'd you do that?"

Harry shrugged dismissively, as if what he'd done was no big thing, and I looked at him askance, suddenly seeing him through new eyes. He was slightly built, bald, and his baby face made him look like he was forty going on fourteen, but there was something about the way he walked that I'd never noticed before. He walked with an assured, easy poise, as if every movement was somehow under his full and conscious control.

It was weird. It was as if there was suddenly a stranger next to me in the place of my – what was he, anyway? Teacher? Friend? Bodyguard? All three at once? I fell into uncomfortable silence.

I walked for a while. Then I felt a poke against my shoulder and looked up.

Harry was looking at me seriously. He shook a chiding finger under my nose. Then he tapped his knuckles against my forehead, very lightly, as if to remind me of something.

All of the sudden, I felt silly. Whatever else Harry was, he was still Harry. "Sorry," I mumbled, and flashed him a sheepish smile.

Harry patted my shoulder gently. We walked on.

Watching the bustling commerce that was going on around me, I noticed that no cash or cards changed hands. All around me sang the tinkle of coins, and I realized that I had no money to my name. It was a weird sensation.

I drifted over to a clothing stall and fingered a pretty silken scarf. My own clothes were an embarrassment after weeks of continued wear and washings in cold river water, and I was coming to realize that I stuck out like a sore thumb. No one else was wearing jeans, though at least a few of the women had opted for pants over dresses, and I was getting some funny looks.

The shopkeeper caught me looking. "Maztican silk," she told me archly. "Fine, is it not? Feel it. 'Tis lighter than a cloud." She looked me up and down, taking in my bedraggled clothing. Then she lifted her eyebrows in condescending amusement. "But I think the cost may be a trifle rich for your blood, dearie," she added. "Perhaps you might be interested in something a little…simpler?"

Simpler. Hah! I drew myself up, ready to retort. Did this woman have any idea to whom she was speaking? Back home, I had had to fight off shopkeepers like this with a stick! They'd swarmed around me like tsetse flies on a sick bull the instant I'd walked through the door! Hell, I could have bought this woman's whole goddamned inventory and probably the ground she'd raised her stall on to boot, before Lois had stepped in and sunk her claws into dad's estate.

Then again…maybe I still could.

My retort died on my lips. I frowned in sudden thought. "I'll take your suggestion under consideration," I said sweetly. Then I spun on my heel and beckoned to Harry.

I dragged him off to a quiet spot between two houses. At his inquiring stare, I held up a finger and searched through my rucksack. "I have an idea," I said. I located what I'd been hunting for and held it up for his inspection. "How much do you think we can get for this?"

The monk's eyes bulged when he saw what I had in my hand. The sight was strangely gratifying. I'd never seen him shocked by anything before, not even by giant dog-men with halberds that were bigger than he was. It was nice to know that he could still be surprised.

I felt very pleased with myself. It seemed that I'd finally done something right, for a change. I held a ruby-and-gold bracelet out for Harry's inspection. "Is it too much?" I asked worriedly, seeing the expression on his face. "If you want, we could try prying some of the stones out-"

Numbly, Harry placed his hand over mine and folded my fingers over the bracelet. He looked a little green, for some reason.

The monk looked at my hand for a moment. Then he pointed from my hand to my rucksack and gave me a look of horrified inquiry.

He had to repeat the gesture a few more times before I got it. "Oh," I said. "Are there more? Yeah. A few. Um. Well, actually, more like a lot."

Harry palmed his face. Then, while I stood there, bemused, he pulled the ties on my rucksack shut as tightly as they would go, and then shook a cloak out of his own bag and swung the cloak over my shoulders.

"It's not that-" I began to protest. Then I caught the look he gave me. "What? God, Harry, it's not as if I'm going around dripping with jewels here. They're all the way in the bottom of the bag." I looked around. "And you think someone's gonna mug us? In this podunk little town? Come on."

He gave me a long, disbelieving look. Then, ignoring my protests, he attached himself to my side like a burr as I sauntered back into the marketplace.

The shopkeeper's attitude morphed into something I was more accustomed to when she saw the rubies glittering in my hand. "Let me show you some of my merchandise," she said, her eyes fixed on the gleaming stones. "My lady."

It felt good to be back on solid ground. I wasn't much of a fighter, half the time I couldn't tell my ass from my elbow as far as this place was concerned, and everything I'd been coming across lately seemed designed to either confuse the hell out of me or scare me shitless – but when it came to spending money, few were my equal.

Harry and I got into a bit of an argument. He kept insisting that I choose the most modest and utilitarian clothes the woman had in stock.

I told him that he had no fashion sense.

He held his hand over his head and squinted as if fending off inclement weather, and mimed slogging through mud or snow. Then he pointed at the silk blouses and delicate chemises I'd picked out and gave me an incredulous face.

I told him that he was being a drama queen.

He waved his quarterstaff at me meaningfully and then took a couple of mock swipes, then pointed accusingly at the dresses I'd been eyeing. Then he flailed at some nonexistent, billowy skirts, just to prove his point. His argument would have been more convincing if he hadn't looked so much like a short, bald, badly-dressed version of Marilyn Monroe over a really active heating vent.

I didn't explain to him why I started giggling. I'm not sure if I could have explained it, even if I wanted to.

Reluctantly, though, I conceded that I probably couldn't fight in a dress, if it came down to that, and what were my chances of being invited to a cocktail reception any time soon? He conceded that the soft leather pants I liked would hold up better on the road than would the cotton that he preferred. I gave in on the blouses, choosing plain linen and cotton over silk. I refused to budge on the scarf, and Harry eventually sighed in exasperation and gave up on arguing with me.

Then came the bargaining, which was a strange tripartite dance.

First, the shopkeeper gave me a price. Then I looked at Harry. A slight shrug indicated that he thought the price was fair. A skeptical raise of the eyebrows suggested that there was room for me to haggle. A faint frown told me that the price was much too high.

"Excuse me, my lady," the shopkeeper said at a certain point. Her obsequious smile was becoming a bit strained. "Is this man a…a business acquaintance of yours?"

I looked at her. Suddenly, I grinned. "Yeah," I said, and give Harry a sly sidelong smirk. "He's my silent partner."

The monk's heavenwards roll of the eyes was eloquent.

We concluded the sale. The merchant gave us our change with an air of relief. She seemed glad to see the last of us. Maybe she didn't like Harry's acting ability.

"Everyone's a critic," I whispered to my friend, and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I think you're awesome."

The monk looked at me sidelong and grinned bashfully. Then he reached up and tugged playfully on a lock of my hair.

We moved on.

There was a cobbler on the other side of the market, from whom we bought two pairs of soft doeskin boots that came to halfway up my calf – one in brown, and one in dark gray. Sandals were all well and good, and at least I hadn't left home in stilettos, but I was tired of getting blisters.

There was also a lady who sold underwear in a discreet little booth on the perimeter of the fair. For some reason, certain technological advancements had not reached these people. Foremost among them was the underwire bra. The lady offered me some kind of lace-up binding instead, and though it compressed more than it lifted and separated, I supposed that it was better than nothing when it came to preventing inconvenient bouncing.

Harry left me to my own devices for that one. He stood guard outside the booth instead. For some reason, he seemed to be blushing. I supposed that monks didn't have much occasion to go lingerie shopping.

None of my acquisitions, though, held a candle to the last one.

"Stardrops, spun sugar, and sweetmeats!" a plump merchant bellowed. "Pastries! Pies! Tarts and fritters! All made fresh today!" He caught my eye. "You there, young lady!" he called heartily. "Care to try one of my cloudberry candies?" He winked. "Guaranteed to brighten your day!"

I sniffed curiously at the confectionary scent on the air. My stomach growled. "Why not?" I asked, and laughed. "My day could always use a little brightening."

The man busied himself with shoveling tiny, glittering pink candies into a waxed paper bag. "Now, m'dear," he tutted. "What's happened to put a frown on such a pretty face?" He grinned. "Whoever he is, I can always have my boys track him down for ye and give him a stern talking-to."

Suddenly, I thought of the cloaked man. How long had it been since this dream had begun? I hadn't even thought of him in what felt like weeks, and yet, here he was, his shadow passing over my good mood like a cloud. "Have you ever seen a man whose feet don't touch the ground?" I asked abruptly.

The man gave me a strange look. "Only when there's been a hangin'," he said. "Elsewise? No."

I considered that. "Hell. There might even be a hanging, if I ever catch up with that guy," I muttered darkly.

I paid the man and moved away. Absently, I fished one of those mysterious cloudberry candies out of their bag and popped the confection into my mouth.

The candy was airy and sweet-tart. When I bit into it, it crackled like a frozen raspberry.

I froze. "Oh. My god," I moaned, with my mouth still half-full of candy. "Oh, sweet Jesus."

Harry looked around in alarm. Then he looked at me and cocked his head, radiating bewilderment.

I held the bag out to my friend. "These are incredible," I said enthusiastically. "You have got to try one. Go on, you'll thank me later." He shook his head. "What? You don't like sweet stuff?" Another head shake. I shrugged, and popped another candy into my mouth. I rolled my eyes in gustatory ecstasy. "Nngh. Wow. Well, your loss."

The merchants were closing down their stalls by the time we finally left.

"Not a bad little town," I said to Harry as we schlepped back to camp. "Not exactly the fashion center of the world, but not bad."

After a few more paces, I realized that Harry wasn't behind me anymore. I turned.

He was several feet back. He had knelt by what looked like a pile of rags in a muddy ditch.

I'd stepped over the pile without really seeing it. It was habit.

Oh, I knew what it was. I'd seen them every day, back home. But you learned to tune them out – dial them out of your own personal reality, so to speak. It wasn't as if I could do anything to fix the world's ills. I'd tried, and I'd failed, and I'd gotten shot for my efforts. I'd learned my lesson.

I walked back, giving the wreck of a human by the roadside a wide and wary berth. "Harry, you don't know what he has. You really shouldn't-"

He just looked at me. Then he looked away and went on dabbing a poultice on the wretched man's sores.

After a while, Harry got up, packed away his medicines, and gestured at my bag.

My hand went to my bag. "What?" I asked.

Harry rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. Then he pointed at the homeless guy.

I stared at them both. Then I sidled over to Harry. "You want me to give him money?" I hissed. "Why? He'll just blow it on booze or-"

The stern, disapproving expression on Harry's face stopped me.

I'd never seen that look on the monk's face before. For some reason, it made a red-hot, shriveling sensation creep up the back of my neck and into my cheeks.

A long, awkward silence stretched out. Flustered, I reached for my bag.

I shook some coins into my palm and looked at Harry, pleading. He gestured for me to keep going. I winced. Then I did as he asked.

The ragged man closed his fingers over my money and mumbled his thanks to Harry. His eyes glinted wetly.

I wasn't sure what had just happened. I didn't know what to say.

All I could think of was a girl I once knew, a long time ago. She wouldn't have walked on. She would have stopped, just like Harry. She'd wanted to save the whole entire world.

Then she'd left me, her illusions shattered by a single gunshot, and I was all that remained.

I had assumed that the world was better off that way.

Now, suddenly, I wasn't so sure.

Harry's fingers closed on my shoulder. He gave me a gentle, questioning look.

I didn't know what to say to him.

So I turned away, lowered my head, and walked on.

The rest of the trip back to camp was conducted in silence.


	18. Chapter 18

Our wagons trundled down the Long Road at a snail's pace.

For the most part, I passed the days talking.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I listened. Teddy did most of the rest.

Information crashed down on my head like a typhoon on a small coastal village.

"We call it Faerun," Teddy explained. "Of course, 'tis not the only continent on Abeir-Toril, but the others are wild and little-known to those of us in, ahem, the civilized world."

"How many are there?" I asked, curious in spite of myself.

"Oh, five or six, depending on who you ask," Teddy said negligently. "The ones you may hear of most often are Kara-Tur, to the east, and Maztica, west across the Sea of Swords. Of course, of those, little enough is known for certain. It would take months to reach one or the other from our little corner of the world, and that across all manner of treacherous landscapes."

It sounded as if I'd been catapulted all the way back into the middle ages. "Aren't there faster ways of travel aside from, well-" I gestured at the wagons. "From this?"

"Oh, certainly – portals, for instance, are a popular solution for many mages of power-"

I sputtered a laugh. "Oh, come on," I said. "You can't be serious."

The gnome tilted his head at me curiously. "Why not?" he asked.

That was when I said something that I'd shortly come to regret.

"What kind of a fool do you take me for?" I asked indignantly. "There's no such thing as magic."

"Truly?" The gnome's voice was mild. He scratched the side of his nose. "Well, well. That's quite a statement. Hmm. Yes, quite a statement indeed." As he spoke, he patted himself absently, seemingly searching his many pockets for something which he'd misplaced. "I see that you are a very well-informed young lady. Yes, indeed. Well, I shall not argue with you. Now, where did I put that – a-ha! Here it is!" He opened one side of his frock coat and pulled a tightly-wrapped scroll from some inner pocket. He unrolled the scroll.

I leaned over to look. The alphabet it was written in was gibberish to me. "What language is that?" I asked.

Teddy gave me an inscrutable look. "Magic," he said.

And then he said something else, something I didn't understand, and the words crawled through my head like spiders.

A perfect chrysanthemum of fire bloomed over the palm of Teddy's hand.

Then, faster than my eye could track it, the fire streaked off into the trees. Which exploded.

The horses reared in their harnesses. The wagon rocked. Burning branches rained down on the road.

"Goodness!" I heard the gnome exclaim. "That was quite a good rendition, if I do say so myself. Must have had a steady hand when I scribed that one. Well, young lady, what do you think of-" He paused. The wagon seat creaked. "Young lady? Where have you – oh! I see. You can come out now, dear."

I didn't know how I'd managed to somersault into the wagon bed, but I was nice and comfortable among the supply crates. I was pretty sure that no one wanted to set those on fire – which was why I was going to stay right where I was for the foreseeable future. "What the hell was that?" I shrieked.

Teddy laughed. "Magic," he said impishly. Then he blew on his still-smoking fingertips.

The wagons creaked along.

I finally crawled out from behind the supply crates around midafternoon, though I still jumped whenever Teddy moved his hand.

Teddy was fascinated to learn that there was no such thing as magic where I had come from. "What, none at all?" he said. "Surely there must be-"

"No," I said flatly. I was still feeling rattled. "None. Oh, sure, there are charlatans and con artists who make all kinds of fancy claims, but nothing's ever been empirically proven. There is no scientific evidence for the existence of magic." I wanted to make that absolutely clear.

"Just because the evidence has not been found does not mean that it is not there," Teddy pointed out.

"You can't find any evidence for the existence of unicorns, either, but I'm pretty sure they don't exist-"

"My goodness! How odd! Well, of course there must be no unicorns on your world, if a young lady like you has never – that is, of course I would never dream of impugning your honor, no doubt if you did have unicorns on your world a nice girl like you would be quite surrounded-"

"Actually, they'd probably run the other way the second they saw me. Or catch on fire."

"Oh! Oh, my gracious! But you are only jesting with me, surely-"

"Not really. But the point's moot. Unicorns don't exist. Period."

"Actually, my dear, they do."

"No, they don't."

"They do."

"They don't, you pointy-headed moron."

"Now, now, just because you are wrong, my dear, is no good reason to be rude!"

Harry had to come separate us – or maybe it might be more accurate to say that he had to come restrain me before I made the goddamned gnome eat his hat.

I didn't like to even admit to the possibility that magic – or anything related to it - might exist. It raised too many other, even more disturbing possibilities – like the possibility that these portals Teddy had spoken of were real, as well.

 _The opening of this portal was a random event_ , the voice of the cloaked man whispered in the back of my head.

 _A random event_ , repeated the echo of that voice, later that night when I found that I couldn't sleep. I lay awake and stared at the stars above, watching them twinkle.

I didn't recognize any of the constellations. I looked, and I looked, and I looked, until the sky began to lighten towards dawn, but the stars were all wrong.

 _A random event_ , the voice parroted in my head until I wanted to yank my hair out by the roots. Y _ou are a very angry woman. The opening of this portal was a random event. Who are you? Follow me and find out. You are lost, lost, lost._

What I needed was a drink. Problem was, Hana'd effectively barred me from joining the guardsmen when we made camp, and they were the only ones who had anything stronger than tea to drink. I didn't even think of asking Harry if he had a bottle of hooch on him somewhere – and after what the gnome had told me of his little alchemical experiments, I wasn't willing to touch any bottles he'd been near.

In all honesty, part of the problem with Hana was my fault. I hadn't made a very good first impression. As a matter of fact, I couldn't have made a worse impression if I'd tried.

She was a strange-looking woman. She had prominent cheekbones, a pointed chin, and abnormally huge, almond-shaped eyes. With her bulbous nose and sloped forehead, she wasn't a pretty woman, and the careless way that she'd hacked her red hair short and wore nothing but ratty leather and chain said that she damned well knew it.

But that wasn't what made me stare.

It had been when she'd pushed her hair back from her ears that I'd noticed something even stranger than the rest.

The tips of her ears were pointed. And not just a little, so that I could dismiss it as a trick of the light – they were pointed almost like a cat's, even though they lay flat against her skull.

She caught me looking. "Is there a problem?" she asked acidly.

"Um," I said, intelligently. "No…"

She didn't believe me. "You have something against half-elves?" she demanded, her hands on her hips and eyes blazing. "Pah! You're all the same – human women, elven women, turning your pretty little purebred noses up at me while the whole bleedin' world falls into your laps!"

I tried to get a word in edgewise. "But-"

She charged right over me. "Thrice-damned freeloaders," she spat. "I worked my arse off for this post, and the nancy-fancy miss just waltzes in and everyone falls all over her, is that it?"

I hadn't noticed anyone falling all over me, though Harry'd done more than his fair share of making me fall over. Every time I thought I was getting good with the quarterstaff, he'd pull out some new move and end up bruising both my ass and my ego.

The woman's accusation got to me, somehow. I'd spent my whole life having people tell me how I'd had everything handed to me on a silver platter. They said that money didn't buy happiness, and then they turned around and demanded to know how I could possibly be unhappy with all of that money I had. I was so sick of it I could just scream. "Hey, listen, lady," I began, "I don't know what kind of bug's flown up your ass, but if you think my life is all rainbows and sunshine-"

She ignored me. "And just what have you done to deserve our charity?" she demanded. "Looks to my eyes like a baby bird just fell out of her nest and got picked up by some addlebrained Ilmatari – and I'm to bend my knee to that? Hah! A likely story!"

Then she'd shoved past me without bothering to wait for a reply.

It had only gone downhill from there.

I'd taken to positioning my blankets so as to keep Harry between myself and the guards' portion of the camp each night. Not that I really expected Hana to do anything other than shoot me death glares, but that prickling sensation between my shoulder blades was hard to shake.

Day after day passed. In defiance of all physical laws, it seemed to me that the road only grew longer the farther we travelled. Tiny villages passed us by just to vanish in our dust.

Teddy talked, and I listened. He told me about half-elves, and then elves, and then lavished attention on gnomish culture. I assumed that the races were just like the races back home, and pretty much identical to one another aside from superficial cosmetic differences. But, after a while, I wasn't so sure. There was no race back home that had a lifespan about ten times everyone else's. There was no nationality back home where the people could see in the dark, or sing to the trees.

I stared at Teddy as he spoke, and saw the delicate way he moved his hands, and the strange sharpness of his face, and wondered just what kind of dream would include anything like this.

After a while, the dead bird on Teddy's hat really started getting to me. Sometimes it was there and sometimes it wasn't, but when it was, I found it hard to keep my eyes off of it and concentrate on our conversations.

One night, I gave up and broached the subject. "Um, About your hat," I told Teddy one evening as I rested from the new bruises Harry had given me during our latest sparring session. "I think you might have something on it."

The gnome reached up in alarm. "What, have I got a spot on it?" he asked. "A stain? Oh, do tell me that I haven't bent it. I have, haven't I? Oh, I shall have to have a stern word with my haberdasher. I knew that those willow reeds seemed a bit flimsy-"

"No, no, it's not that, it's-" I paused. Desperate, I joined my hands at the thumbs and flapped my fingers in a very Harry-like imitation of a flying bird. "The, uh. The bird. I don't think it's supposed to be there."

"What? Char? Oh, no, no!" For some reason, the gnome was laughing. "Oh, I assure you, my dear, he is quite hale. No, he is merely napping. He is getting on in years, after all, and quite treasures his sleep."

I looked at the raven. Its feet were still sticking straight up into the air. "Um," I said. "I think he might be a little beyond napping."

"Oh, no, not at all. Here, look," the gnome urged, and he reached up and flicked the bird with his forefinger. "Char! Wake up, you little villain! The lady would like to meet you."

When the bird moved, I let out a short, sharp scream and stumbled backwards. The backs of my knees hit a travelling chest. I sat abruptly. My backside hit the chest with a thump.

The bird wheezed asthmatically. It struggled to right itself, wings beating against the gnome's hatbrim. I could have sworn that a cloud of dust rose off of its feathers.

Then the bird started talking.

"Urdlen's Earwax!" it croaked, and crouched down, the feathers around its neck standing on end. Its beady eyes darted around wildly. "Summon the Argent Legion! Man the battlements! Down the hatch! Eh? What? What? What's happened?"

"Oh, settle down, you featherbrained twit," Teddy said testily. "You know, if you didn't insist on sleeping the day away, you'd know better what was going on about you."

The raven quorked and folded its scraggly wings. "Settle down yourself, you wattle-pated pillock," it retorted just as testily. "What's happened? Pixie flew up your bum?"

Teddy's face turned pink. "Ooh, by Baravar's Infamous Vanishing Knickers, sometimes I wonder what I did to get saddled with you-"

The raven cackled. "You wanted a familiar," it said. "You read the scroll. Now, did you check to see if anyone else on the selfsame street was castin' the same spell at the same time? Nooo-"

"Why, you little-"

The bird's beady eye focused on me. "See, this is the problem with gnomish wizards and their bright ideas," it croaked at me. "I could've ended up with a nice, quiet necromancer, but then some pointy-nosed windbag-"

"I beg your pardon!"

"-decides he wanted a familiar, too, and then the spellstreams get crossed and poof! Some poor necromancer ends up with a gods-damned pixie, and here I am, bonded for life to some gabby twerp what spends his days up to his eyebrows in mercury fumes and faerie dust – when he has eyebrows, anyway-"

"Down with you, villain!" Teddy yelled. "Gond's Garters, but there are some days when a nice platter of roast squab sounds mighty tasty to me!"

Both of the raven's eyes rolled independently of one another. "You see?" it cawed. "And he has the stones to ask me why I'm cranky? Hah!" It pinned me with one beady black eye. "What's the matter, lady?" it asked then. "Cat got your tongue?"

I stared at the bird for a while.

Then I buried my face in my hands. "I can't deal with this anymore," I muttered to my palms. I heard a note of hysteria in my voice. First it was dog-headed gorillas, then it was killer bunnies and balls of fire, and now? Talking animals! "I just can't."

This wasn't a dream. This was hell.

And now I really needed a drink.


	19. Chapter 19

Hana stalked over to us, her face like a thundercloud.

The half-elven woman stepped up onto the still-moving wagon stoop and grabbed the railing, balancing there with ease as the oxen plodded ahead. "My scouts have been reportin' strange sightings," she announced without preamble. Her eyes were fixed on Teddy. Me, she ignored. "Bandits, might be, though the bastards are provin' a trial to pinpoint."

Teddy frowned. "How so?" he asked.

"Well, Magister, if I didn't know better, I would say that they had some magic up their sleeves. We've nearly found 'em a dozen times, and each time they've melted into the trees like elves. " She spat when she said the last word, like it had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Teddy stroked his beard. "Hmm. Hmm. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later," he said at last, unruffled. "I shall strengthen our wards tonight. Keep me informed."

I shrank down on the wagon seat as Hana nodded curtly and walked away. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I'd suddenly started to feel this pressing need to make myself as small a target as possible. "Bandits?" I asked nervously. "Aren't you worried?"

"Oh, pish-tosh. 'Tis likely nothing we have not seen before."

"You mean to say that this is normal?" My voice had gone up to a squeak by the end of the sentence.

Teddy tutted. "Now, my dear, calm yourself. Yes, yes, a caravan of this size is bound to attract unsavory elements, but, I promise you, they will have a world-famous prestidigitator and his fierce and fearless escort to contend with! The chances of any confrontation of consequence are quite minimal."

"Minimal," I repeated. My eyes scanned the treeline. Was there something moving in there? "How minimal? I mean, give me a percentage chance, here. Are we talking fifty percent? Thirty? Point oh something?"

"Well, I must confess that I have never made a precise calculation. Hmm. Fascinating. I would of course have to compile a list of each time we have encountered bandits on our travels, of course, but it would take a complex bit of divining to ascertain the ratio of missed encounters to those actually fought. Hmm, hmm. Aha! Yes, Baervid's Uncertain Recall ought to do it. Now, where did I leave those wight claw shavings?" He began to pat at his hat, opening drawers at random. "They must be around here somewhere-"

I left the little alchemist to his own devices and crept quietly from the bench to the back of the wagon.

Harry was dangling his feet over the wagon's lip. He looked up and smiled in welcome when he heard me coming.

"Hey," I said softly. I joined him at the wagon's edge and sat. "How's my silent partner?"

The monk gave me a twinkling-eyed glance. Then he leaned over and tugged at a lock of my hair.

I flapped a hand at him impotently, laughing. "Hey! Quit that," I said. "You'll ruin my 'do."

He chuckled at me.

Together, he and I watched the road pass backwards beneath our feet. "Hana says that there are bandits out there," I said at last.

The monk nodded. He seemed unconcerned.

I clasped my hands between my knees and stared at them for a while. "Aren't you worried?" I asked in a small voice.

Harry turned to look at me. His eyes studied my face.

Then he reached up and laid a hand on my shoulder.

I sat there and listened to the creak of the axle. My friend's hand was a warm and reassuring weight.

Gradually, the monk's little bubble of tranquility seemed to expand to include me. My nerves stopped twanging so loudly. My breathing evened out.

"Thanks," I said.

He nodded again and squeezed my shoulder. His brown eyes were calm and filled with wordless understanding.

I laid my head against the monk's shoulder and sighed. At least there were some good things about this dream of mine - or whatever it was.

Together, we sat there and watched as the sun painted the horizon orange.


	20. Chapter 20

  _April come she will_

_When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;_  
_May, she will stay,_  
_Resting in my arms again._  
_June, she'll change her tune,_  
_In restless walks she'll prowl the night;_  
_July, she will fly_  
_And give no warning to her flight._

_August, die she must,_  
_The autumn winds blow chilly and cold._

_-_ Simon and Garfunkel, "April Come She Will"

* * *

 

Something woke me. I didn't know what.

For a while, I looked at the sky and tried to clear the tattered rags and remnants of sleep from my head.

I'd been dreaming of the cloaked man. That had been happening a lot lately – ever since I'd started thinking of him again.

Sometimes, in my dreams, we were in the park, and I relived _that_ night over and over again.

Other times, we were on a mountain peak somewhere, stone at our backs and empty air in front of us. He seemed to want to say something to me, but his voice sounded just like the howl of the wind, and I couldn't understand him.

Not that I wanted to hear what he had to say, mind you. The son of a bitch had already done enough damage. He could take his words and shove them up his ass, as far as I was concerned.

I stared up at the unfamiliar stars and listened to the rustle of leaves in the wind.

_Strange,_ I thought. _Shouldn't there be crickets? And birds? And…stuff?_

I wasn't much of a zoologist. I couldn't have said what kind of wildlife was usually responsible for all of the noise I'd been hearing at night. I just had this weird sensation that there should have been more of it.

I heard the crunching footsteps of the caravan guards and turned my head.

Two silhouettes were outlined by the light of a dying campfire. "All's quiet?" one of them asked.

The other one grunted. "Too quiet," he said. "I mislike it."

The first one chuckled. "Shar love you, you bloody doomsayer," he said. "Lighten up. The wizard's-"

I heard a click, and a strange buzzing noise.

Whatever the guard was going to say next was replaced by a gurgle.

I saw him clutch at his throat. Something fountained out from between his fingers. He tried to say something, but only a choked, bubbling sound came out.

Then he fell to his knees, and from there he toppled forward onto his face.

He twitched a few times, flopping like a landed fish. Then he lay all too still.

The other guard stared down at him. He clawed for his sword. "Beshaba's Tits!" he bellowed. "To arms, lads! The wards are down!"

I heard that click again. Something thwipped through the air. A clod of dirt sprayed up not far from my feet.

"It's those fucking bandits!" Hana shouted. "Up, you louts! Up! Form a perimeter, damn your eyes! _Form!_ "

More buzzing things zipped through the air. They were arrows, or bullets, or something.

Some of them hit the ground, or tents, or trees. Others hit men, and some of those men went down.

Harry was already up and moving. I hadn't seen him, but I think he must have been up since the first shot. As I watched, he reached up into the air and caught one of those flying missiles on his wrist, knocking it harmlessly off to the side.

He turned and saw me. Before I could react, he took a running leap, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me into the shadow of a tree trunk. Then he made a _stay there, stay quiet_ motion and ran back into the fray.

The monk jumped into the middle of an ongoing fight, landing a spinning kick on a bandit's head and then knocking another one of those missiles out of the air. Then he yanked one of the guards out of the way of an incoming sword strike and punched another bandit in the throat with his free hand.

The bandit fell like a stone, and I thought _I think he's dead I think he just died_ and I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. He'd been attacking the camp, so he was a bad guy, but dead is dead and bad versus good doesn't seem so important when a living person turns into a corpse before your very eyes.

Lightning crackled overheard. "Break my wards, will you?!" Teddy shouted shrilly. "You villain! You fink! You verminous rapscallion!" Blueish light _whoomph_ ed, somewhere off in the trees. "Ha! Now there's a taste of your own medicine! How's _that_ for a dispelling, eh?"

Chaos unfolded around me, filled with shouts and screams and the clash of metal against metal.

I stared at it all, huddled there clutching at my blanket and gaping in open-mouthed shock.

I wanted to go and help, do something, but every time I thought of getting up I heard the sound of someone getting shot and the sounds they made as they fell, and my blood froze.

I'd never seen people getting hurt and dying like this before. All I seemed capable of doing was to sit there and watch in numb horror.

Maybe that's why my brain was so far behind in processing what happened next.

I saw a hail of missiles, and saw Harry turn to dodge or deflect them or whatever he did.

I heard a whistle and a thunk. I saw Harry jerk, and I wondered what kind of strange new maneuver he was doing now.

Then I saw the spreading stain on the front of his shirt. The moonlight turned it black. I almost didn't recognize it for what it was.

Then I understood what it was, and, just as the understanding hit me, he collapsed.

I didn't realize that I'd shed my blanket and crawled across the campground to him until I got over to him.

He was curled up on his side, and the dark stain had spread. It covered the front of his chest.

I rolled him over. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see me.

I didn't understand what was wrong with him. "Come on, Harry," I pleaded with him. I struggled to get my arm under his shoulders, tried to get him to sit up. "Get up. Don't do this, get up, come on, look at me, look at me, come _on_ -"

That seemed to get some reaction. His eyes rolled and fixed on me. He smiled, faintly, and his hand lifted towards me, like he wanted to reassure me, tell me not to worry so much.

Then his eyes went fixed, and I knew with terrible certainty that he wasn't seeing me anymore.

Eventually, some hands grabbed my arms and tried to pull me away.

_Fuck you,_ I thought, and thrashed against the hands that held me.

I'd been pounding on Harry's chest and yelling at him to wake the fuck up, but for some reason, he wasn't listening, wasn't even moving.

The hands wouldn't let me go. I lashed out. My fist connected with what felt like someone's face, and I fought my way back to my friend's side.

_I can't just leave him here,_ I thought incoherently. _He'll be lonely. I can't just leave him._

Then someone was saying those spidery words that went straight through my skull, and my vision was swallowed by a violet light.

Then, for a while, I saw nothing at all.


	21. Chapter 21

  _Author's Note: I'm sorry about the last chapter. It had to happen, or Rebecca would never have done what she needed to. Pleasedon'tkillme._

 

* * *

_Sometimes I feel like I'm dying at dawn_  
_And sometimes I'm warm as fire_  
_But lately I feel like I'm just gonna rain_  
_And it goes over, and over, and over again, yeah_

_Too many flames, with too much to burn_  
_And life's only made of paper_  
_Oh, how I need to be free of this pain_  
_But it goes over, and over, and over, and over again_

_Yeah, sometimes I cry for the lost and alone_  
_And for their dreams that will all be ashes_  
_But lately I feel like I'm just gonna rain_  
_And it goes over, and over, and over, and over again_

\- Black Sabbath, "Over and Over"

* * *

 I sat cross-legged on the ground and stared at the sorry patch of earth, Harry's quarterstaff across my knees.

Teddy cleared his throat. "Did anyone know his name?"

_Harry,_ I thought, but that hadn't been his real name. He'd never told me his real name.

_He never broke his vow,_ I thought. _Not even at the end._

After a while, Teddy cleared his throat again. "Very well," he said. "Ilmater knows his faithful without having to be told, I expect. I shall simply have to do my best. Now, where was that book of rites…aha!" He lifted up his hat and fished a small, leather-bound volume out of the lining. "Here it is. I knew I'd left it here somewhere. Ahem. Now, on to the ceremony-"

I let the gnome's pious recitations drone over me. What did I care? Eulogies didn't change anything.

_These things don't happen in dreams,_ I thought, over and over. I stared at the quarterstaff across my knees. _You wake up when people die. You don't keep on dreaming. It doesn't keep going on and on and on._

It was just like it had been with dad. There one minute, gone the next. I hadn't even had the time to say goodbye.

A smaller voice chased my circling thoughts, nipping at their heels. _This isn't a dream, is it?_ it asked. _I'm not going to wake up, am I?_

Teddy finished his eulogy. There was silence.

Then: "Does anyone have a few words to say for our dearly departed?" he asked. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I tensed. "Young lady? Would you care to add anything?"

I stared at the quarterstaff. I traced the writing with my fingertips, wishing I could read it. "He never broke his vow," I said, my voice sounding far away and hollow. "Not once."

Teddy said something. I didn't hear him.

_Harry kept his word,_ I thought to myself.

It seemed important, somehow. It seemed pointless.

So Harry had kept his word to some imaginary deity. Big whoop. He was still dead.

But the promise had been important to him. So it was good that he'd kept it.

It still didn't change anything, though.

I stared at the grave and let the words wash over me. I felt like I was drowning in them.

A breeze whispered in my ears. It felt real.

The sun was warm on my skin. It felt real, too.

I could smell the sweet, warm scent of the late summer grass. I could taste the new-turned earth on the back of my tongue.

_Real, real, all real._

I could feel my heart beating in a way that it never did in dreams, and I was too tired to keep pretending that I couldn't feel it.

The nagging little voice began to overwhelm the others.

_This isn't a nightmare,_ it told me. _It's worse._

_It's real._


	22. Chapter 22

Hana marched towards Teddy and me. She had the air of a woman with a purpose.

Pity that purpose seemed to be aimed my way.

"We can't keep her with us," she announced without preamble. "She's a danger to this caravan."

Teddy drew himself up to his full height – a feat that was made more impressive by his hat than by anything else – and harrumphed. "I will not hear any more of this, Hana!" he barked. "Such nonsense! The young lady is safer with us-"

"Aye? Well, we're not safer with her." Hana placed her hands on her hips and glared at me. "We questioned one of the survivors. He spoke of a woman that one of his mates saw in Longsaddle – a woman who paid for her goods in rubies the size of cats' eyes. A woman who had an Ilmatari monk guardin' her every move." Her mouth widened into a grim smile. "Does this sound familiar?"

I'd been feeling numb, like I'd been wrapped in wool. I'd thought that I couldn't feel anything anymore.

I was wrong. Hana's words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.

One minute I was standing, and the next, I was sinking to the ground, the strength in my legs gone.

I wished that the earth could swallow me. I wanted to join the rest of the people who'd just been planted six feet under.

Harry's hadn't been the only death. Other men had died, too. Nice guys. I wished that I hadn't killed them with my stupidity. My grotesque, horrible, _fucking_ stupidity.

Teddy – dear, sweet, insane Teddy – laid a protective hand on my shoulder and defended me against his guard captain. I could have told him that it was a lost cause, but he did it anyway. "If those bandits had not chosen to target us for that reason, they would have followed us for a million others," the gnome said, his high-pitched voice unusually grim. "We are a ripe prospect! Our inventory of potions would make any band nearly invincible – and our treasury would arm them for years to come."

Hana was undeterred. "Nonetheless, it was that one who inspired the raid," she said. "With all due respect, Magister, my first duty's to this caravan. This… _woman_ is a liability."

"Enough, Hana! I will not abandon a defenseless young lady to this dangerous world-"

Their argument – Teddy would probably have called it a discussion, but that was just how he phrased things – flew back and forth over my head. I huddled on the ground, my hands over my ears. I tried to think.

Everything had started to go wrong that night in the park, and now I was here, in a place I still couldn't quite believe was real.

Real or not, though, I was stuck there, far from the people and places I had known.

And now I didn't even have Harry. All because I was too stupid, too _thoughtless_ to live.

_I am not lost,_ a voice rose from my memories. _But you are._

My thoughts spun dizzyingly.

I spoke up, cutting into the ongoing argument. My voice was hoarse. "Do either of you know a man whose feet don't touch the ground?"

The others stopped talking at once.

"I beg your pardon?" Teddy asked me in polite confusion. "A man whose feet don't touch the ground, you say? Why, wherever did you hear of such a thing?"

"I didn't hear of it," I said. My hands tightened around Harry's quarterstaff. "I saw him."

Hana lifted one auburn eyebrow. "Was he a wizard of some sort?" she asked icily. "Are you drawin' angry mages down on us, now?"

Teddy was stronger than he looked. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder kept me from shooting to my feet and doing something to Hana that I'd probably have regretted. "I doubt as much," he said mildly. He rubbed his bearded chin, squinting thoughtfully. "Hmm. Hmm. Interesting. What else do you know of this man?"

_I know that he ruined my life,_ I thought. _I know that it's his fault I'm stuck here._

_I know that he owes me a goddamned explanation._

"Nothing else," I said. "Just that he had a beard, and he was wearing a long, dark cloak." I shook off Teddy's restraining hand, leaned on Harry's quarterstaff, and hauled myself to my feet. I felt tired, but my mind was buzzing, and I was suddenly filled with a strange, eager energy. "And that he's the one who brought me here. He told me to follow him."

"Hmm. A cloaked man who walks on the insubstantial air...how curious." Teddy looked up at me speculatively. Then his expression cleared. "Fascinating, fascinating. He told you to follow him, did he? My goodness me." The gnome rubbed his hands together. "Well, my dear. I cannot say that I know the man – and you seem to have a mystery on your hands. The question is: what do you intend to do about it?"

_Who are you?_ I heard myself ask, in the voice of memory.

_Follow me and find out,_ the cloaked man taunted me.

My heart started beating again, and each beat filled me with a grim, angry purpose.

"I intend to find him," I said. "And then I intend to get some answers."


	23. Chapter 23

_Down on the corner_   
_See me standing_   
_In a makeshift home_   
_With a dust storm comin'_   
_In a long black shadow…_

_Drivin' on the sidewalk_   
_Lookin' back at the sky_   
_It's burning in the rearview mirror_   
_I better go it alone  
I better go it alone_

_-_ Beck, "Go It Alone" _  
_

* * *

Teddy refused to let me go anywhere before he'd given me some provisions.

"If you truly intend to set out on your own, at least allow me to ensure that you do not starve, my dear," he insisted. He pushed a pile of paper-wrapped rations into my hands. "Here, take these. Oh, and these. 'Tis the finest of rothe jerky, I shall have you know, and not such an easy thing to find. Drow traders tend to be a little hesitant to come out from under their rocks – ha-ha, sorry, just my little joke."

I looked at the jerky. It looked like normal jerky to me, but then, I didn't generally eat anything that tasted and chewed like shoe leather, if I could help it. "Really," I said. "Thanks, but I don't need all of this-"

"Oh, pish-tosh." The gnome fluttered a hand at me dismissively. His other hand was fumbling through the contents of a travelling chest. "Consider it a gift….aha! Here it is. Of course you _must_ have this, and I will not take no for an answer," he added, and turned to hand me a small glass vial. "I would not be able to live with myself if I let you go without one of my patented healing brews."

I turned the vial over in my hands. There was some kind of milky blueish liquid in it. "What?" I asked, bemused. "If someone chops my leg off, I drink this to grow my leg back?"

"Oh, no, no, that would be simply ridiculous! You would need a powerful regenerative potion for that – all this will do is stop the bleeding and close the wound for you. Though, if 'tis an extra leg you need, I know a fellow in Calimport – quite a brilliant man, nearly on par with myself, if I may say so, though of course he is not my equal in the field of alchemy – anyway, he is an excellent transmuter and has since moved from the art of golem construction to the crafting of artificial limbs. I still recall his artificial hand – it was a prototype, of course, and the wand of fireballs in the index finger _may_ have been a tad excessive, but I am certain he will have the triggering mechanism sorted out any day now, and if you ever need parts replaced, I swear to you that that gentleman can fix you up even better than before-"

I felt a migraine coming on. "Really? Maybe I'll look him up and see if he can fix me up with a new head," I sighed. I stashed the potion in my rucksack. Then, after a moment's hesitation, I pulled out another pouch. "Thank you, anyway. Just one more thing-" I shook a pair of earrings from the pouch – emerald, this time, with diamonds and white gold filigree. I didn't like showing the jewelry to anyone anymore, but Teddy already knew about it, and I wasn't going to use it for barter again. Not after what had happened the first time I'd tried it. "I think I need some money. What can you give me for these?"

The gnome frowned and took the earrings from me. From a little brass hook on his hat he unslung a tiny jeweler's loop. He held the loupe up to his eye and examined the earrings. "Quite a lot, actually," he said eventually. "About six hundred in good gold, though I will give you some of it in platinum, if you do not mind. That much gold will be difficult to carry." He went over to his folding desk, unlocked a small iron-bound chest, and began to count out some coins. "Although you may want to keep the rest of those, ahem, _objects_ well hidden," he said over his shoulder. "It does not pay to advertise when you have a king's ransom on your person."

I thought of Harry. The guilt came crashing down on me so thickly and blackly that my mind went blank for a long, long moment. I couldn't breathe.

"Yeah," I said at last, almost inaudibly. "I know."

Teddy turned to look at me. His eyes softened. "It is not your fault, my dear," he said. "You could not have known."

I swallowed. "Yeah," I said. I wished he'd just stop talking. I couldn't think about this right now.

He didn't let up. "Bandit attacks are not uncommon hereabouts. The road is a dangerous place. Accidents happen. Do not blame yourself."

I didn't reply. I stood and stared at the carpet between my feet. It was red. There were flowers on it.

I heard the gnome's footsteps. He lifted my hand and placed a heavy pouch in it. "There," he said. "That should serve." He closed my fingers over the pouch and clasped my nerveless hand in both of his. "Now. Is there anything else you would have of me before you leave, my dear?"

I avoided his eyes. "I…one more thing, yes," I said. I held Harry's quarterstaff at arm's length, my eyes still on the carpet. "You should have this," I said. "As repayment for…for everything. It's the least I can do."

The gnome didn't take the staff. "Do you think that this is what your friend would want?"

I thought that Harry would want me to pay my debts. I thought that I didn't want to carry a tangible reminder of him everywhere I went. "I think so," I said. "Go on. Just...take it."

After a while, I realized that I was still holding the staff. I looked up.

Teddy was peering at me solemnly. "No," he said slowly. "We had a bargain, my dear, and you held your end up. You have told me some fascinating things about your world." He shook his head and tucked his thumbs behind his tattered green lapels, resolute. "No, we are even, you and I, and I think that your friend would rather that you keep a good, stout weapon about you."

My mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "I…I really don't think…"

"Nonsense! Are you aware that this weapon is enchanted? 'Tis quite an elegant piece of work, as well, if I may offer my humble opinion. Those end-caps are mithril, you know. Light as air, sturdier than steel, and I do believe that this weapon holds a few shocking surprises for your enemies. Ha-ha. Ahem. Sorry, just another one of my little jokes." The gnome shook his head and pressed the staff into my hands. "No, it would only go to waste here, or end up in the hands of a stranger who will only take it home and use it to prop up a sagging roof or some such travesty. Better that it stays with someone who will value it properly."

_I don't deserve it,_ I thought. "I already have a staff...he made it for me…I can't-"

"Oh, fiddlesticks. Of course you can." The gnome patted my hand and smiled up at me. "I wish you a safe journey, my dear," he said then. "And I hope that you find what you seek." His eyes twinkled. "Who knows? You may even find more than you bargained for."

I clutched Harry's quarterstaff to my chest. The wood was warm, and it tingled against my palms. "I'll settle for getting what I want," I said. "Thanks, though."

Despite my mood, Teddy's elaborate bow of farewell made me smile. His clothes didn't even seem that outlandish to me anymore. Maybe some of his insanity was rubbing off.

I shook the little wizard's hand and ducked out of his tent, Harry's quarterstaff propped over my shoulder.

Hana was waiting for me outside. That made my smile wilt.

She gave me a sardonic look. "All ready to go, princess?" she said. "Good. The caravan will be leaving shortly. If there are any more of those bandits out there, with any luck they'll follow us, not you."

I had been all set to say something nasty. Something about her words stopped me. I blinked. "I thought you wanted me dead," I said stupidly.

The half-elven woman huffed a short, humorless laugh. "I don't want you dead," she said. "I want you out from under my eyes. There's a difference." She gestured for me to follow her to the edge of the camp. "Travel by day, but keep to the trees. 'Tis best for a woman alone if she's not seen to be alone in the first place," she said as we walked. "When you make camp, light no fires. You can take the Long Road south to Triboar, and from there all the way to Waterdeep – or you can head east out of Triboar on the Evermoor Way, which will bring you to Everlund and Silverymoon. The choice is yours. Either way, try not to get yourself killed by this man you've decided to hunt, aye?"

I felt my lips quirk up into a grim half-smile. "Thanks," I said. "I think."

Hana didn't shake my hand. I wasn't surprised. At least she'd been almost polite, now that she'd gotten her way.

I still had the walking stick that Harry had made for me. I laid it across his grave before I left. It seemed fitting that I leave his gift with him.

I didn't say any more words over his resting place. I guess that was all right. Words had never really been his strong suit, anyway.


	24. Chapter 24

_Through the corridors of sleep_   
_Past the shadows dark and deep  
_ _My mind dances and leaps in confusion.  
_ _I don't know what is real,  
_ _I can't touch what I feel  
_ _And I hide behind the shield of my illusion._

_The mirror on my wall_   
_Casts an image dark and small_   
_But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection._   
_I am blinded by the light_   
_Of God and truth and right_   
_And I wander in the night without direction._

_It's no matter if you're born_   
_To play the king or pawn_   
_For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,_   
_So my fantasy_   
_Becomes reality,_   
_And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow._

_So I'll continue to continue to pretend_   
_My life will never end,_   
_And flowers never bend_   
_With the rainfall._

\- Simon and Garfunkel, "Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall"

* * *

 Grief took me in weird ways on that trip.

It wasn't so bad during the day. I took Hana's advice and kept mostly to the trees, though I made sure to keep the road within sight. I didn't want to get lost.

Whenever I had a clear enough path, I ran. It felt good to run again, and the exertion kept me focused on nothing more complicated than my next stride - and the aches and pains of running again after what felt like months away from it.

After the first day, I woke up the following morning feeling like someone had cracked both of my shins and replaced the muscles in my thighs with barbed wire.

Perversely, I welcomed the pain. At least it gave me something else to think about.

Besides, I'd earned it, the way I'd let down everyone I'd ever cared about.

Sasha had counted on me to keep her safe, and far from protecting her, I'd left her alone so that some lunatic could break in and kill her - just to get to me. No doubt my failures had contributed to Dad's final heart attack, too - hell, maybe I'd even helped with the first one. From high school on, I'd given up on studying as too damned boring, and I'd devoted myself instead to getting drunk, coked out, strung out, and laid, preferably all at once - and when I wasn't doing that, I was naively trying to get myself killed in all sorts of war-torn, godforsaken locales. Even after I'd cleaned myself up a little, I'd still acted like I'd been set on a self-destruct course and was going to take the family name down with me, so was it any wonder dad had been so stressed out?

And now there was Harry to add to the tally...

A shudder ran through my muscles, and I opened my stride, running so hard that you would've thought the devil himself was at my heels.

When I couldn't run any further – or if the terrain turned rough enough that I ran the risk of twisting my ankle if I pushed my luck too far – I walked, and even then I was so busy watching for other travelers and jumping at shadows that I didn't have much time to think then, either.

Thoughts kept popping up when I wasn't paying attention, though.

I'd notice the weight of Harry's quarterstaff in my hand, after hours of ignoring it, and the sudden feeling of hollow agony would be so heavy that I'd come to a stop, feeling like I'd just run smack into a wall. Ironically, it was at those times when his quarterstaff was often the only thing that kept me on my feet.

Other times, I'd look at the pristine blue of the sky, and at the cobblestoned road with bright green grass growing up from the cracks between the stones. I'd look at the strange people who passed me by, and I'd inhale the sweet summer air, and I'd wish that dad could be here to see it, because even though I didn't want to be in this place, it really was beautiful and strange and fascinating, and I thought he might have liked to see it. He'd always liked the country.

Then I'd remember that, if this was real, that meant that dad was really gone, too, and _that_ hit me like a ton of bricks.

Over and over again, I forgot that they were gone.

And then, over and over again, I remembered.

The tears came on often and suddenly, as if I'd just opened a spigot. There were a few occasions when I had to stop and lean against a tree until the moment had passed, because I couldn't see where I was going through the blurring in my eyes.

Other times, I stopped if I saw a plant that I thought I recognized. Automatically, I would turn to Harry to ask him a question, or to point my find out to him so that he would give me a smiling thumbs-up for a job well done.

Then I remembered that he wasn't there anymore, and that he never would be again, and I'd uproot the shrub or tear its branches off and hurl it into the trees with a banshee-like scream of rage.

Then, after the fit had passed, I'd feel guilty. It wasn't as if the plant had anything to do with my problems, after all. It was just a plant.

I tried to collect the poor things and stick them back into their holes. I patted the earth down around their roots in mute apology, though I wasn't sure why I was apologizing to a plant. Still, it calmed me down a little, though I'd never had much of a green thumb and I didn't know if the plants would even survive the consequences of my little tantrums.

I was glad that I was alone for the most part, at least. It would have been humiliating if anyone had seen me acting the way I acted sometimes along that road, whenever the grief took me.

But, all in all, the days weren't so bad.

It was the nights that killed me.

I was used to being surrounded by people, always. Even in the quiet of my apartment, I'd been aware that there were millions of souls all around me, every one humming along the city's veins and powering its massive heart. It had been weirdly comforting to know that, even if there was no one right there with me, I was never really alone.

But, on this alien road, when the stream of travelers had dried to a trickle and then stopped with the setting of the sun, I sometimes felt like I was the only person alive in the whole world.

Maybe that should have been reassuring – I was a woman alone and didn't really have any way to defend me except with Harry's quarterstaff, which I wasn't even very good at using. I was probably safer if no one was around to see me.

Mostly, though, I was just unbearably lonely.

I often found myself sitting up until dawn, staring off into the shadows until my vision swam with exhaustion. I counted backwards from some insanely high numbers, just to distract myself. Sometimes it worked. Mostly it didn't. My thoughts spun and buzzed in my head, refusing to shut down long enough to let me catch more than what felt like a few winks of sleep.

I missed dad so much. It was strange, but somehow the unfamiliarity of the place made it feel like he was even further away from me.

It was absurd. He was gone _don't say dead, I hate that word, don't even think it_ and it didn't matter how far away I was. Whether ten miles or ten million, it was all the same. I could be sitting right next to him, and it still wouldn't bring him any nearer to me.

I found myself missing Harry's unflappable calm. It had been like a balm to my not-so-unflappable temper. I needed it, but I couldn't have it. It was gone, too, no thanks to me.

I'd been so jealous of him. I'd been proud. I'd been humbled. I wished he was still around, so that I could keep trying to learn how he did what he did. Now I'd never even get the chance.

I tried to practice with the quarterstaff, to do some of the poses he'd taught me, but my heart wasn't in it. It just brought back memories I didn't want to have to think about.

I ate whenever my legs weakened, or when I started to feel faint. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I gnawed on a piece of jerky until my energy came back. I wanted to collapse even less than I wanted to eat.

What I really wanted was a drink, but I didn't have any, and I didn't find any place along the road that sold what I wanted. Believe me, I looked.

It wasn't the jerky that kept me going through the long nights and the grief, though.

It was the anger.

The cloaked man was the key to everything.

The cloaked man knew something. He'd done something to me. I didn't know what, and I didn't know how, but I knew that I wanted to get out of this place and get my life back, and he was the key to this whole miserable mess.

I was going to find him. And then he was going to fix everything that he'd broken. Somehow.

Days passed, one by one. I ran more, slept less, ate little, and I kept a running count of the days in my head. Inside, I seethed with a boiling black rage.

On the twelfth night, I dreamed.

I was standing on a mountain ledge, the wind whipping at my hair and stinging at my eyes.

I turned in a circle and shaded my eyes against the sun, trying to see where I was.

A vast valley lay at my feet. A river wound through its heart, seeming barely more than shining ribbon from this distance. The valley floor was emerald green, a sea of trees which stretched out for miles before it gave way to golden plains. Pinkish grey rock spilled down the valley's slopes, and the same stone rose from the valley's walls to become the mountainside.

The wind whistled in my ears.

It carried upon it a voice that was soft and deep, and the voice went through me like thunder. "You have chosen a path, I see," it said.

I turned.

He stood in the lee of the cliff, a massive stone monolith at his back. The monolith was pierced with holes, through which the wind whistled like a flute.

The man's long, dark cloak rippled in the ever-changing wind, and his booted feet didn't touch the ground.

I opened my mouth. " _You_ ," I said. My voice was tight with loathing.

He nodded calmly. "Yes," he agreed. "I would speak with you, Rebecca."

"Really? That's funny," I said. Ice-cold anger sluiced through my veins. "I was about to say the same thing to you. You've got a lot to answer for, buddy-"

"Harm has come to you, child, but it was not of my doing. Please believe me." His grey eyes were kind, and troubled. That only made me hate him more, because it made him harder to hate. "Your anger twists your purpose. It has made you blind."

"No," I snapped. "It makes me see more clearly than ever. _You're_ the reason I'm here. _You're_ the reason for everything, aren't you?"

He cocked his head and studied me curiously, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. "Do you truly believe that I have the power to affect events so strongly?" he asked.

"If I knew what you did and how you did it, I wouldn't be looking for an explanation."

He snorted softly. "If you knew your own mind, you would not have to search for an explanation," he replied blandly. "You would already have it."

I ground my teeth together and took an angry step forward. "Don't give me that mystical bullshit," I seethed. "I want _answers,_ damn it. I'm stuck here, my life is a mess, and I'm tired of not being able to do a fucking thing about it!"

"Yes. You are a very determined woman." His tone was bone-dry. "If you would only focus that determination more wisely, you would be much more formidable."

My voice came out shaking with fury. "You'll see how formidable I am when I catch up with you."

The man sighed. "You are set on this course," he said. It was half a question and half a confirmation.

My fists clenched. "You bet your ass I am."

"Very well. Then I will await you here, dear, angry Rebecca." He extended his hand to me, beckoning. "Find me," he said. "Find me, and may the road show you your answers."

Before I could gather my wits to retort, the wind took them away.

It poured in, howling, from the valley and the sky and the cliffs, and it swept me away into the open sky, swallowing my screams.

I woke up drenched in sweat and panting, a shriek on my lips.

Strange stars shone down on me. Recollection came back. Gradually, my heart slowed from its thundering.

I sat up and pulled my hands through my tangled hair. I laced my hands behind my head and tried to breathe. "Only a dream," I muttered to myself. "That's all. It was only a dream."

Then I started to laugh, and, at the same time, I started to cry.

I didn't even know what was a dream and what was real any more. I wondered if it really mattered.

It was a mad, mad, mad, mad world. And I was stuck in it.


	25. Chapter 25

I reached Triboar the next day, footsore and grumpy and badly in need of a drink.

I stalked through the streets, brisk and grim-faced and doing my best to give off that patented, " _Don't fuck with me,"_ vibe that I and my fellow urbanites back home were famous for.

Nobody bothered me, so I figured it must have worked.

Eventually, I stopped in front of a huge, iron-banded door and looked up.

There was a boar's head mounted above the door. Someone had painted it blue. Aside from that, it looked so fresh that I half expected it to oink.

When the gate guards had suggested the Blue Boar Inn as a good place to stay, I'd assumed that the name was just a quaint reference to local history or something.

I hadn't expected the actual dead pig.

On the other hand, someone was roasting another, hopefully even deader pig in there somewhere, and it smelled awfully good. "When in Rome, I suppose," I muttered to myself. I squared my shoulders, reached for the latch, and gave the door a shove.

The smell of dead grass, stale beer, and sweaty people hit me like a ball peen hammer to the nostrils.

I stopped on the threshold. "Jesus Christ," I wheezed. "Why doesn't anyone ever warn you about the _smell_?"

Someone guffawed. "Well, look what Siamorphe dragged in!" a woman's voice boomed in my ear. "What's that smell, the fine lady asks! Why, 'tis the smell of good cheer!" Someone slapped me on the back. I staggered forward a step. "Maybe if you brought your pretty little nose down to earth with the rest of us, you might smell it as well, eh?" I heard my tormentor suggest playfully.

I regained my balance and turned around, thoroughly annoyed. "If I bring my nose down to earth around here, something's likely to crawl up i-" I began scathingly. Then I stopped and looked up. And up. And up. "Holy _shit,_ " I said then. "Who the hell are you?"

The strange woman grinned at me. Her ice blue eyes gleamed with amusement. "Well, would you hark at that!" she exclaimed. "The hoity-toity lady has a mouth like a sailor! Who would have thought it?" She slapped my shoulder lightly with the back of her hand and laughed. "Well met, indeed! I like a good surprise! In fact – just for that, I will gladly give you my name!" She bowed. "My name is Magda Thunderbeast, warrior of the Thunderbeast tribe of Uthgardt!"

I had to crane my neck to look up at this Magda, and I wasn't a short woman. She looked about my age, maybe a little older, but she towered a full head above me, and she was built like a brick shithouse. Also, the sword she had slung across her back was about as tall as I was, and she had more knives shoved through her belt and, from the looks of it, into the tops of her boots.

Meeting Magda was like meeting a real-life Valkyrie, or maybe an Amazon - right down to the faint tremor of mortal terror. The woman was packing some serious heat.

"Thunderbeast, eh?" I asked, half-raising a hand to my ear and wincing. In addition to all the rest, Magda didn't seem to understand the difference between an inside voice and an outside voice. It was apparently a full-throated bellow or nothing. "That's...appropriate."

The woman frowned suspiciously. "You do not intend to make fun of my name, do you?" she asked sternly. "An outlander man did that once. I made him apologize. You will not laugh, will you? I would hate to have to make you apologize, too. You seem very nice, for a noblewoman."

Morbid fascination took over my tongue. "How did you make him apologize?" I asked curiously.

She shrugged. "I asked him to."

I blinked uncertainly. "And he apologized? Just like that?"

The blonde woman grinned innocently. "Oh, yes, he did...eventually," she admitted. Her fingers tapped thoughtfully against the handle of one of her knives. "Though I was forced to tie him to a horse and threaten to introduce him headfirst to the rapids of the Dessarin before I was satisfied with the depth of his sincerity," she added.

The words shot from my mouth so quickly that I think they must have broken the sound barrier. "I think Magda Thunderbeast is a _wonderful_ name," I said brightly.

"You do? Truly?"

" _Yes._ Oh, absolutely, yes."

Magda beamed and draped a friendly arm around my shoulder. My knees buckled slightly. "I can see that we will be great friends," she boomed. "Come, my girl! You must have a drink with me! I insist!"

Obediently, I let Magda lead me towards a table. Unless I absolutely had to, resisting heavily-armed barbarian women seemed imprudent - especially when they were offering me drinks. " _Now_ you're talking my language," I said happily.

"Good! What'll it be?"

"Depends. Do you people drink whiskey around here?"

"Whiskey?" She looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. "What, no prissy elven mead for the noble lady? Holy Hells, girl! I think I like you!" She sat me down and hailed the bartender before flopping down onto the bench next to me. Then she propped her boots on the table so hard that the table shook, folded her hands over her stomach, and grinned at me. "So, what was your name again, little noble?" she asked me jovially.

I hesitated. Then I leaned over and offered her my hand. Why the hell not? "Rebecca Blumenthal," I said easily. "Pleased to meet you, Magda Thunderbeast."

The woman arched a platinum eyebrow at me. "Blumenthal, eh?" she said loudly. "Never heard of it. Is that some kind of noble family around here?"

For some reason, the question struck me as funny. I laughed. "No," I said. "Not from anywhere around here."

"Oh, so is that why you look so exhausted? Why, you poor little thing." The Uthgardt woman draped a friendly arm around my shoulder again. Personal space appeared to be an alien concept to her. "What, did they try to make you marry some rich old lecher? Try to pack you off to some Helmite nunnery? Tell Magda all about it, sweetling."

I laughed again. "You kidding me? If they'd tried to ship me off to a nunnery, I'd have disowned them," I said.

The woman guffawed. "Well said," she complimented me. "My own father has been trying to persuade me to marry for many years. I tell him that first I must honor my family in combat, and so I hunt bandits and orc-kin for the greater glory of my tribe."

I thought about that for a moment. "So, how many years have you spent hunting bandits by now?" I asked at last.

The woman's grin widened. "Oh, six or seven," she said. "Sometimes the bandits are so plentiful that I may not return for months at a time." She shrugged. "My father grumbles, but what can he say? Each victory of mine only increases his stature amongst our kin."

I found myself returning her grin. "Next time, tell your dad that if he likes the men he picks out for you so much, _he_ can marry them," I joked. I blinked, my eyes filming suddenly. "T-that's what I always did."

Magda burst into hoots of laughter. She slapped me on the back again. "Brilliant!" she crowed. The bartender came over and dropped two platters full of smoking meat, two empty glasses, and a full bottle in front of us. Magda took her feet off of the table long enough to pour. Then she passed a full glass to me and raised her own in a toast. "To our fathers," she said, "And the dullards they would have us marry!" I laughed, a little unsteadily, and raised my own whiskey in salute. Glasses clinked.

We drank, and ate. Magda talked incessantly, mostly with her mouth full. I listened, mostly with my mouth full.

By the second whiskey and a plate of the tavern's surprisingly tasty rotisserie pig, I was feeling much mellower.

By the third, I was starting to approach the happy drunk stage.

When the plates had been cleared away, Magda belched happily. "Ahh," she sighed. "Much better. I am feeling quite restored. Hells - put a sword in my hand and I could face down a full raiding party, horses and all."

I giggled into my whiskey glass. "You're gonna have to figure out how to stand, first," I said slyly. "Go ahead. Try it."

Magda frowned. Then she grabbed the table and hoisted herself to her feet, swaying. "Of course I can-" she began. Then she lost her balance and sat back down with a thud. "Oops. No. You are right, I cannot. Blast. What kind of rotgut did that man give us?"

"Maybe we should ask him for some more, so we can figure out what it is?" I suggested.

"What a brilliant little noble you are!" Magda beamed and raised her hand. "Barkeep!" she hollered.

Sometime after the second bottle, I noticed that she kept peering at a point just past my shoulder while she talked. "What?" I asked.

Magda blinked. "What? Oh! I was just admiring your weapon. 'Tis a fine piece of work," she said, nodding at Harry's quarterstaff. "What is it called?"

I looked at her blankly. "Called?" I echoed. "Should it have a name?"

She looked at me just as blankly. Then she burst into guffaws. "Of course it should!" she barked. "Tempos's Balls, woman! I named my own blade as soon as it came off of my father's forge! If you do not name that stick of yours, how will your enemies know who has slain them?" She reached behind her shoulder. "Here, I will show you!" she said, and slammed that gigantic sword of hers down on the table. "Meet Stormsplinter!"

Conversation stopped. People turned to look. I knew this because I saw their feet move.

Of course, I didn't _actually_ see their faces. I'd already dived under the table by then.

Magda leaned down, frowning in bemusement. "You high-born ladies," she sighed. "You spook so easily. Come back up here, little noble! Magda will not hurt you!"

I stared up at her, wide-eyed. "How about you pass the whiskey bottle down here and let me think about it for a while?" I suggested.

"Oh, do not be ridiculous!" And then, before I could object, the woman had grabbed a fistful of my shirt in one of her hands and pulled me back up onto the bench, with no apparent effort.

I was too shocked to resist. I grabbed the table to keep from toppling over. "Are all of the Uthgardt as crazy as you?" I asked faintly.

"No." Magda grinned. "Some are even crazier." Then she clapped me on the back and put a full glass of whiskey in my hand. "What, have you never met one of the Uthgardt before?" she asked curiously.

I stared at the whiskey. Then I tossed it back in one gulp. "No," I croaked. "I'm pretty sure I would have remembered."

"Well, then! Allow Magda to tell you about her people!" the woman offered expansively. "Let no one say that Magda Thunderbeast shirks her duty to inform outlanders of the glory of her clan!"

Then she refilled my glass and began to talk, and _damn_ , but the woman could go on for hours.

I hadn't been far off when I'd compared her to a Valkyrie. She came from a tribe of what sounded almost like Visigoths or the local equivalent thereof – huge, boisterous, war-trained barbarians who were split into tribal groups and fiercely loyal to their own. Each group named itself for its totem animal, and their religious culture seemed almost shamanistic, totally centered around the power of their totem.

It was a load of bullshit, like all religion. But, hey, at least it was interesting bullshit.

"So you're a member of the Thunderbeast tribe?" I asked. "What kind of an animal is that?"

Magda beamed. "The mightiest!" she boasted. "A great lizard, more than forty spans high! Its footsteps shake the ground, and its tail fells the tallest of trees!"

I frowned thoughtfully. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "You're talking about a dinosaur, aren't you?"

She paused with her hand on the bottle and gave me a blank, blue-eyed stare. "A dino-what?" she repeated.

Too late, I realized that paleontology probably wasn't Magda's scene. Not that it was mine, either, but with all the money dad had spent on my education, a few things were bound to have stuck. "Nevermind," I said. "Haven't they been extinct for a very long time, though?"

She laughed at me. Then she laid one finger on the side of her nose. It took her a couple of tries to get it right. I couldn't blame her. I wasn't feeling all that coordinated, myself. "That is what you outlanders think," she said conspiratorially. "But our shamans say that the Thunderbeasts live yet, deep within the farthest reaches of the High Forest. In times of great danger to the tribe, they will return to trample our enemies into the ground."

I decided not to point out that she'd just said that her totem knocked trees over with its tail, and was therefore highly unlikely to be living in a forest. Not for very long, anyway. I didn't want to offend her. She was good company.

The thing about Magda - the thing that anyone who spent more than five minutes in her company was bound to pick up on - was that she seemed to have no mental filters. Whatever popped into her head headed right back out again, where it was promptly displayed for public consumption. If something made her angry, she shouted and pounded the table with her fist. If she thought something was funny, she laughed and pounded the table with her fist. If she saw an attractive man, she paused in mid-sentence to leer and catcall. Then she laughed again.

She was lewd, she was crude, she had terrible table manners, she didn't sound like she had much time for intellectualism, she spoke enthusiastically of skewering bandits like it was some kind of hobby, and she threw her whiskey back like a champion.

In other words, I liked her. I kind of wanted to be her when I grew up. God knew that it would be a damn sight better than spending my whole life having twenty generations of dead Blumenthals breathing down the back of my neck.

I ordered another bottle. We drank. I grimaced slightly. The whiskey tasted like it had been distilled from rubbing alcohol and battery acid and aged for about a week before bottling, but beggars couldn't be choosers. It had been too long since the last glass. So I drank.

"So what brings a noblewoman like you to this place?" Magda asked eventually.

I considered the question. It was getting a little hard to think straight. My thoughts kept floating around like dandelion fluff. "Why do you keep calling me a noblewoman?" I asked curiously.

Magda guffawed. "Because you complained about the smell as soon as you walked in here, you stand with your shoulders thrown back, just so, and you hold your head like there is a crown on it. That is why."

"Oh." I looked around at the seedy tavern. Then I hunched my shoulders forward and tried to mimic Magda's easy slouch, because I didn't want anyone thinking I had a tiara stashed away somewhere. Especially because, as it happens, I did. "Well, if you have to ask…I'm looking for a man."

I knew my choice of words was a mistake as soon as they left my mouth. Sure enough, Magda guffawed. "Oh, well, if _that_ is your aim, I can make a few suggestions," she said. She pursed her lips, planted her elbows on the table, and scanned the room. Then she poked me conspiratorially in the ribs and pointed. "How about that one?" she asked. "He is a fine specimen, don't you think?"

I looked. The man she'd pointed out was tall, hulking, and had a bristling black beard. "Who, Blackbeard over there?" I asked, aghast.

"Aye." She took a swig of whiskey and sighed gustily. "He can plunder my bounty any time he likes."

"Good. Hand me a padlock and a set of keys so he doesn't plunder mine."

Magda leered. "Oh, so you are an elf-fancier, are you?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never slept with one."

"Truly? I hear 'tis an experience not to be forgotten. I have never understood the fascination, myself. Elf-men are too scrawny for my tastes." Magda hiccupped and groped for the bottle. She slopped some whiskey on the table while trying to pour, and swore. "So...what does he look like, this mysterious man of yours?" she asked distractedly.

I remembered. "Tall," I said. "Short beard. Longish hair. Kind of weatherbeaten. Not that young, but not really old, either. He wore a long cloak, and-" I hesitated. "You're probably going to think I'm insane," I warned.

"Bah! We have shared a drink. For tonight, I shall believe anything you say, little noble." The barbarian woman gave up on pouring and resorted to taking a swig straight out of the bottle. "Go on. Tell Magda. Did he have a foot-long-" She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. "-you know?"

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed. "If he did, I'd already have caught up to him by now."

"Oh. A pity. Well, then. If not that, what, then?"

"Well...I know it sounds nuts, but I swear that his feet didn't touch the ground."

Magda paused, the bottle halfway to her lips. "Was he a mage?" she asked.

"I…I don't know. I don't think so. He just walked on the air like it was the same thing as the ground to him, that's all."

The Uthgardt woman sloshed whiskey around in her mouth, thoughtful. She swallowed. "I have seen stranger sights," she said. "Though I am afraid that I have never heard of this man who walks on air." She looked at me. "So - why are you looking for this man, Rebecca Blumenthal? What has he done to you?"

It might have been the whiskey that made me truthful. Or maybe it was just grief and loneliness and their miserable outriders. "I think he laid a curse on me," I said. "I met him once – I never even learned his name – and then my whole life went to hell." I took a long sip of whiskey. "One thing after another, and to top it all off, my dad…h-he died, you see, and the harpy he'd married took the estate, and now…I don't even know where I am, or where to go, and…all I can think of is that this man _does_ know. And I want answers. I'm so tired of not knowing what to do."

I was approaching the maudlin drunk stage. Tears rose to my eyes. I sniffled.

Magda must have seen it. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a comforting squeeze. "There, there, little noble," she said heartily. "Never fear. Magda is here!"

At that, I forgot my tears, and smiled at her through a happy alcoholic haze. Magda was such a nice person, I realized suddenly. I would have liked to give her a hug, but I couldn't figure out which of the two Magdas I should be hugging, so I settled for leaning comfortably against her shoulder and wondering if another glass of whiskey would help my eyes focus any better. "Whaddya mean?" I asked blithely.

"Dark curses? A heiress who lost her fortune? A noble, completely addlepated quest?" Magda banged her fist on the table. "Why, 'tis a tale fit for the bards!" She pointed a finger at me. "You will come with me!" she boomed. "A skinny thing like you will not last a minute on these roads! What would my clan say if I allowed a brave questor to fail at her task? No, I must help you! We shall travel the Evermoor Way and ask all we meet about this flying man of yours-"

"Actually, more like floating. Or maybe levitating-"

"Whatever." Magda hoisted her bottle by the neck. "A toast!" she boomed. "To a completely hopeless quest!"

"You _are_ insane." I groped for my glass and held it up. It was empty. "And I think you just drank the last of the whiskey."


	26. Chapter 26

 

 

 

A huge green hand grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and threw me out into the street.

"And stay out!" the creature bellowed. It slammed the door.

Magda groaned. She sat up, her platinum hair coming loose from its braid and falling into her eyes. It was streaked with dirt. "Bloody Hells," she said admiringly. Her eyes were unfocused. "That half-orc, he hits like an angry remorhaz."

I got to my knees, painfully. My face felt like it was on fire. "Son of a bitch," I mumbled. I raised my fingers to my split lip and winced. "Are all half-orcs like that?"

Magda squinted her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Well," she said reluctantly. "Maybe I should not have broken the table over his head."

"You think?" I used the wall to help me to my feet. The brick was rough under my hands. My knuckles felt kind of bruised, and my wrist hurt – probably from the impact with some barfly's nose, if I had to guess. My memory of the past fifteen minutes was mostly a blur. "What the hell did you hit him for, anyway?"

Magda scowled. "He defended the sweaty little rat who dared to lay his hands on me!" She pounded her fist against her chest, causing a small seismic event in her personal topography. It was the kind of event that could have conquered entire armies all by its lonesome, provided that the armies consisted entirely of males who were, a) over the age of thirteen and, b) had a pulse. "I, a warrior of the Thunderbeast tribe!" she went on indignantly. "Can you believe it?"

"That's because he's the _bouncer,_ Magda." And what a terrifying bouncer he'd been, too. I'd never met a half-orc before, though Teddy had told me about them. I hoped never to meet one again – at least, not unless the next one wore a paper bag over his head and agreed to be heavily sedated and chained to something heavy. "He wasn't defending the guy. He was trying to get you to stop hitting people."

Magda humphed. "No Uthgardt woman will allow herself to be pawed against her will!" she barked.

I leaned against the wall. "So you're saying that we're modern, forward-thinking women and we don't have to take that kind of crap?" I asked.

The barbarian clenched her fist and raised it in the air. "Exactly!" she cried. "You see? I knew you would understand!"

My head sagged. I rested my forehead in the palm of my hand. "Okay, fine," I said wearily. "But, as a modern, forward-thinking woman…did you really have to break his _arm_?"

Magda shrugged. "It will heal. And in the meantime, the vile lecher will have learned a valuable lesson." She paused, taking in my face. Her own face fell. "You are angry at me," she said in an unusually small voice.

I'd been all ready to yell at her, but it was hard to do with her looking so downcast. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. "Just...please don't get me into that kind of a situation again," I muttered. "I don't think I've got the constitution for it."

"I won't," Magda said contritely. Then her face cleared into a grin. "You can just watch next time. That way, you will be able to pick me up afterwards and revive me with some of that excellent brandy."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "You have no shame," I said.

"Of course I do," the blonde woman said stoutly. "That is why I must defend my honor when it is insulted by goaty little men."

I had to agree. Maybe that was why I hadn't gotten so angry that I'd left her to deal with her little bar fight all on her lonesome. The little perv _had_ needed some kind of lesson. It just would never have occurred to me to teach him _that_ kind of a lesson.

Eventually, the two of us found our feet and reeled away from the bar.

I'd never been in a bar fight beforeu. Now that I had, I couldn't say that I'd enjoyed the experience.

The night had started so well, too. We'd made it to what Magda called the River Surbrin and crossed the river into Yartar, whose huge granite walls stood just on the other side.

Then we'd sought out a tavern in the city center and started asking questions about the cloaked man. Magda had recommended it as the best course – taverns were the best places to hunt down local gossip, she said, and if no one there knew anything, at least they might know where we'd be best off asking.

Magda had made a good argument. I'd agreed to go along, and once we'd exhausted all the taverns in Triboar and gotten over the resulting hangovers, we'd set off for Yartar at a run – and the woman really knew how to run. I'd had a hard time keeping up with her.

We hadn't found out much, but the drinks had been nice. One of the bartenders had introduced me to a drink called Dragon's Breath. It started off with all the smoothness of a good brandy, but its finish had the lingering bite of something like sambuca. Another one introduced me to Firedrake, which was mellow and sweet and served warm in a cold glass with salt around the rim, like a high octane margarita.

So, things had been going nicely overall, and I was sure that I at least stood a better chance of finding what I was after with Magda's help than I did without. She was a native, but I was only a tourist, and most of the time I felt like a fish out of water.

It was only bad luck that some tipsy little fool in the third tavern we'd visited that night had decided that it was a good idea to feel up a six-and-a-half-foot-tall barbarian woman.

Then it was only worse luck that he had friends, and they hadn't liked what Magda had done to him in retaliation for his familiarity.

My eye was swelling shut. I couldn't remember what had happened to it. I had a vague memory of a chair leg, speeding in from the right, and then – _bam_.

We staggered across the square.

There was a fountain on the other side. Magda drank thirstily and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb the dirt out of it. I splashed my face with the cool water, wincing at the sting from my lip.

Then we sank down against the fountain's basin.

I let my head fall back against the marble and closed my eyes.

I wished dad was there. He'd kiss my forehead and tell me everything was going to be all right. He might be wrong, but right then, I didn't care. I just wanted to hear it one more time, just one more time.

_Fuck,_ I thought, and tried to blink away tears. _Now my eye really hurts._

I heard a soft footstep. "Are you ladies in need of assistance?" someone asked.

Through my good eye, I saw the hem of blue and silver robes. I looked up.

There was a middle-aged woman smiling at me, her eyebrows arched in amusement. She had ash blonde hair with streaks of gray at the temples. There were laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

As I watched, she swept her robes neatly out of the way and knelt in front of me. A plain, polished silver disc hung from a chain around her neck. "I see that fortune has not favored your endeavors tonight," she observed with a wry smile. She half-lifted her hand towards my face. "May I?"

I didn't know what she was asking, but she seemed so motherly and nonthreatening that I gave a half-nod before I'd thought it through.

Then her hand brushed my cheek and she murmured something I couldn't understand, and I was suddenly reminded of the time that I'd gone sledding at the farm and fallen into the pond. I'd been six or seven at the time, but I still remembered the sensation vividly. The pond had been covered with a thin layer of ice, the water hadn't been much warmer, and the shock of going in had hit my whole body like a mallet striking a gong.

I gasped and jerked my face away. My split lip tingled. So did my bruised eye.

The woman held her hands up. "Peace," she said. "I am sorry. I should have warned you before casting my spell. The mistake was mine." She leaned forward and inspected my face. "But I think it _has_ done the trick. Would you like to see?"

The tingling was already starting to fade. I reached up to touch my face. I froze. "What did you just do?" I had no trouble asking the question. My lip felt whole.

The woman smiled and pulled a hand mirror from the bag at her hip. "Here, use this," she said, and winked. "But do not tell anyone. It does not do to let it be known that an old lady such as me still has her little vanities."

She moved over to Magda, and I slowly lifted the mirror.

The face that stared back at me was startling – in more ways than one.

My fingers traced the curve of my lower lip. There were still flecks of blood on my skin, but my lip was whole and pink, as if it had never been split, and my eye was open and clear.

I'd gotten hit. I knew I had. I remembered the pain, and there was the blood to show for it, and yet…nothing. It was as if the wounds had never been.

My fingers travelled up my cheekbones and into my hair.

I hadn't really looked in a mirror in weeks. They seemed scarce in this place, and I'd had to content myself with streams and ponds and with the habits of twenty-eight years of grooming to guide me.

Now I looked in the first mirror I'd seen in a while, and the sight that met my eyes made me forget _all_ about split lips and black eyes. "Oh my god, Magda, why didn't you _tell_ me I needed a haircut this badly?" I exclaimed, horrified.

The barbarian shrugged at me. "I thought that perhaps you liked your hair that way, and I did not want to offend," she replied.

"Are you kidding me? The way my hair is right now, you could shove a broomstick up my ass and use my head to mop the floor!"

"Is that a request?" Magda laughed at my expression. Then she stood up, drew one of her belt knives, and came over to sit on the fountain's ledge just behind me. "How much would you like me to take off?" she asked, still grinning. "A finger's width? Two? How about the whole head?"

"Funny. Very funny."

"Oh, very well. I can see that you are in no mood for japes. Hold still, little noble. Magda will make you beautiful now."

I heard a rustle of clothing and looked up. The strange woman leaned forward, offering a pair of tiny scissors over my shoulder to Magda, handle-first. "Use these. They will cut more evenly," she suggested.

I blinked at her as tiny snippets of hair rained down all around me. I tried to brush them off of my clothes. "What else do you have in that pouch?" I asked curiously.

The strange woman pursed her lips thoughtfully and began ticking items off on her fingers. "Bandages, salve, a pot of rouge, a bottle of perfume, mint paste and a tooth stick, pearl powder, and...hmm. What else? Oh, yes. And a curative potion."

Behind me, Magda snickered. "Are you certain you have not missed your calling, Luckbringer?" she asked, to the busy snipping of scissors. "Some of those things are more suited to a Sharessan than yourself."

The Luckbringer shrugged good-naturedly. "When you never know what the future may hold, you must be prepared for every eventuality," she replied calmly.

I found myself chuckling. "Good answer," I complimented her.

Her lips twitched. "Thank you." Then she studied me thoughtfully and touched a lock of my hair lightly, with one finger. "I think you should trim it shorter here," she suggested to Magda. "Your friend would be so lovely with those curls framing her face, just so." Then the woman sighed wistfully. "I wish my hair would keep a curl like yours," she told me, and touched her own ash-blonde locks. "Alas, it never does."

I raised my eyebrows bemusedly. "Wanna trade?" I asked drily. "I'd kill for straight hair." I tilted my head to the side at Magda's instruction and addressed the priestess through a veil of hair. "It's a lot easier to deal with."

"Perhaps...but it is not as interesting," the woman disagreed with a smile.

We chatted a little more as Magda played stylist, and I found myself feeling simultaneously thoroughly at ease and thoroughly discombobulated.

The entire conversation felt so surreal. On the one hand, it felt so natural, like I was back home in a full-service salon and surrounded by familiar feminine chatter - something I'd missed in the company of little bald men and gnomish alchemists.

On the other hand, I was sitting in a strange square in a strange city with two very strange women in a strange world where I was pretty sure no one had ever heard of a blow-dry or a seaweed body wrap.

Eventually, Magda announced that she had created a work of art, and I looked in the mirror again, touching my hair tentatively. " _Much_ better," I sighed at last, relieved. "Thanks, Magda. I owe you a drink."

Magda brightened. "Now _those_ are the words of a true friend," she proclaimed happily.

I laughed and returned the strange woman's mirror to her. "How did you do that, by the way?" I asked her curiously.

"Do what?" She studied me. "Oh. You are asking about your wounds?" She smiled and touched the silver disc that dangled beneath her collarbone. "It was not I who healed you. It was my goddess. If you wish to thank anyone, thank her."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow, studying the disc around the woman's neck. Teddy had told me that some clergy in this world wore those kinds of things around their neck, displaying to the world the insignia of the god they followed, but I didn't know which god a silver disc might signify - if it even really mattered. _It must have been some kind of magic,_ I thought. _Some kind of trick._ Teddy had convinced me that some things were possible here that I wasn't really used to, but one thing I knew: if anyone pulled a supposed miracle out of their ass and claimed that their god was responsible, chances were that the person in question was a charlatan on the hunt for gullible converts.

"I'll thank you, if you don't mind," I said at last. The lady seemed nice, and I didn't want to be rude and start insulting her religion - even if she was a charlatan. After all, it was a big world, and if there was room enough in it for me, there must have been room enough for all types - even the crooked ones. "I don't have much truck with gods."

"That is true," Magda spoke up. She smirked. "The little noble is very profane."

"Is that so? Well, such is your choice," the lady said. She studied us thoughtfully. "My presence here is not entirely coincidental, however. I have just come from Johan's establishment," she announced. A smile creased her features. "He requested my temple's aid after several of his customers were injured in a fight. Those who were involved told me of two women who fit your descriptions." She pursed her lips. "Which of you seeks a man whose feet do not touch the ground?" she asked suddenly.

Magda and I exchanged looks. "I do," I said, and looked back at the woman. "Why?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "May I first know why you are seeking him?" she asked.

I felt a flash of irritation. "Do you always answer questions with more questions?" I retorted.

"Questions are the surest path to clear thought." She caught my eye and laughed, holding her hands up defensively. "I jest. Goodness, will you just listen to me? I am starting to sound like an old Oghmite mystic." She shook her head. "No. I am only curious. Please. Humor me."

My hackles settled slightly. "I met him once, a few weeks ago," I said. "Maybe months, by now. I think he did something to me – cursed me, maybe. Then he vanished, without so much as telling me his name." I considered what to say, and decided on an incomplete truth. "I've been looking for him ever since."

"Hmm." She cocked her head and looked at me, her blue-grey eyes unreadable. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?"

I laughed shortly. "Many things," I said. "Mostly gibberish. Things about my path and portals and chains and me being too angry, like he wasn't doing everything in his power to piss me off, and…oh, I don't know." I drew my hands through my hair. "All I really remember is that he wouldn't tell me who he was," I said at last, frustration rising to color my voice. "He said that I'd have to follow him if I wanted to find out. So I did, and now I'm stranded here with no way to get back home." I lowered my voice to an irritated mutter. "That insufferable son of a bitch."

Something flickered in the woman's eyes. "You are _certain_ that he told you to follow him?" Her tone was very cautious.

"What? Yes, of course I am. Christ, I've been hearing it in my dreams ever since. It's not as if I could forget it."

The woman was quiet for a long moment. She toyed with her silver pendant.

Then, abruptly, she leaned forward and brushed my forehead lightly with her fingertips. "Fortune favors the seeker," she murmured, and straightened. Her voice turned brisk. "Very well. I know of this man," she said, and held up her hands before I could say anything. "I know _of_ him, I say, but I do not know where you may find him." A faint, sly smile curled her lips. "You might say that he wanders wherever the four winds blow."

"Thank you," I said drily. "You know, I hate to be a critic, but that was a seriously unhelpful answer."

"Only if you do not know the question," the woman returned impishly. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes. "There I go again," she complained. "I am obviously spending too much time in the library as of late. The lack of fresh air is going to my head. I apologize." She pursed her lips. "I do know of someone who may be able to help you, however," she added. "His name is Kelavir Tarn. The last I heard of his whereabouts, he was somewhere near Everlund."

Magda's blue eyes met mine. Her face was glowing with excitement. "That is not too far," she said enthusiastically. "I think we should go!"

I took a deep breath to calm my leaping pulse. There was no use in getting too eager. This might just be a false lead. "Can you be any more specific?" I asked the priestess. Despite myself, my voice sounded tense and breathless to my own ears.

She shook her head. "There are times when Kelavir Tarn can be almost as hard to track down as his master," she said wrily. "Ask in the small villages along the way. If that does not work…" She tapped her forefinger against her lips. "Try Helmeir's Highboots, in Everlund," she said, and laughed as if she had just said something funny. "Kelavir is one of Helmeir's best customers. He wears through his boots like few others do."

I thought that I should thank the lady for her help, and I did. "You may have saved me a very, very long trip," I said gratefully.

She waved a hand dismissively. "All in a day's work," she said cheerfully. She bowed and touched her hand to her silver pendant. "May Tymora's smile light your way, seeker."

Magda grabbed my arm almost as soon as the priestess had left us. "Oh, this is such a stroke of luck!" she crowed. She began to drag me down the street. "Come! We must leave immediately! Mustn't let the trail get cold!"

I stumbled after her. "Aren't we going to find somewhere to sleep, first?" I protested.

"Can _you_ sleep with the end of your search so close at hand?"

She had a point. I grinned tightly. "I'll race you to the gate," I said.


	27. Chapter 27

Village to village, we roamed with a single question on our lips. "Where is Kelavir Tarn?" we asked.

And what was the answer? Well, that was the thing, you see. No one really knew.

The villages all had names like High Hill and Oakvale, when they had names at all. Most of them were just a huddle of houses around a central green, but Magda said that they were all there was between Yartar and Everlund.

From the way Magda spoke, this was well-populated territory – but, to me, it seemed like the middle of nowhere. The hills rolled out wheat-gold and summer green, dotted with the occasional sprawling farmstead. Where there were trees, they were tall and shady, obviously old growth. We passed perhaps one person or group of people every few hours, as we followed the cobblestone road.

Most people we asked had never heard of a Kelavir Tarn, which I supposed wasn't that much of a surprise - he was only one man.

Some few _had_ heard of him, but it was from their second cousin's next door neighbor from the next town over who had heard from their butcher that his brother-in-law had spoken to such a man not long ago, and by the time we reached the town in question, Kelavir Tarn had always just left – gone to the east, or to the north, or to a place called Neverwinter, or possibly all three, but no one was ever quite sure which one it was.

Magda and I ran from village to village during the day. Embarassingly, the barbarian turned out to be a faster, better runner than I was, and she seemed willing to go on for weeks if I let her. I'd be damned if I asked her to slow down, though – I could already hear her scathing commentary about milksop little nobles if I did. So I kept up as best I could, running until my legs felt like rubber bands and my head swam.

The exertion almost kept thoughts of dad and Harry at bay - but not quite. The memory of them, and the hollow emptiness that they'd left behind, hovered at my heels like a ghost. I tried to outrun it, but I could never quite run fast enough.

Exhaustion, frustration, and the heavy weight of my ghosts all took their toll on me. I became short-tempered and moody.

"You need a man," Magda announced one day. "That is what you need. You have been too long without one. It is making you cranky."

I looked up hopefully. That _did_ sound like a good idea. "What?" I asked. "Do you happen to have one on you?"

"A man? No, I am afraid not." She grinned. "But I will find you one!" She assumed a thoughtful pose. "In fact, I will find two," she added. "That way, I will have one as well, and we will not have to share."

I thought of Magda's forthright, imperious approach to just about everything. Then I tried to picture the same approach being used to pick up men on my behalf. _"Hello, civilized man!"_ I imagined her saying. _"My friend requires your services for the night. If you do not please her, I will geld you. Now, go have fun with the little noble!"_

I quailed. "Thanks, but I can find my own men," I said. "Really. Don't worry about it."

"Nonsense! What kind of friend would I be if I did not see to your well-being?" Magda slapped me on the back. "Trust Magda, little noble! She will find you a good, strong man!"

I'd seen what Magda considered good, strong men. The prospect was a little terrifying.

Still, I decided to let it go. With any luck, she'd forget her promise the instant something more interesting came by, and I'd escape being presented with sasquatches and grizzly bears as prospective mating partners.

Unfortunately, the Uthgardt was true to her word.

"What about that one?" she'd ask loudly in the middle of a crowded tavern, pointing to some hulking bear of a man with an eyepatch and a beard you could hide a muskrat in.

Heads turned. I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. "Magda," I hissed. "Quit it! Besides, he'd crush me!"

"Bah. You noblewomen are too delicate. Show you a man of true vigor and you wilt like a lily." She scanned the crowd. She elbowed me and pointed again. "A-ha! That one! He is nice, is he not?"

I sank down in my chair and tried to hide behind the brandy bottle. "No, he isn't," I said in a small voice. "For fuck's sake, Magda, he has hair coming out of his _ears_."

And it went on, and on, and on. I tried to get her to stop, but she seemed to have taken the task of improving my sex life as her personal mission.

My mood got worse.

Two days later, we came across a sign for a village by the name of Griffon's Watch. We followed it.

The name turned out to be a lot grander than the place, which was a cluster of stone-and-thatch houses ringed by a barricade of pointy, rope-bound logs.

There was a solitary guard at the only gate into town. He had a pointy helmet, a chain shirt, and he was slouching in a wannabe tough-guy way that would probably have made a real gangsta shoot him in the kneecap, just for kicks.

The guard lowered his pike across my path just as I made to step through the gates. "Hold your steps there, pretty-pie," he said lazily. "Gates are closin' for the night."

I looked at the gates, which were wide open.

Then I looked at the pike that was barring my way. Something about the sight of it irritated me to no end.

For some reason, the pike didn't really scare me. Usually, I didn't at all like having edged weapons pointed at me, but this guy was holding his pike like it was a broomstick. Hell - if I'd held a quarterstaff like that in front of Harry, it would have been knocked out of my hands before I could blink. And this guy was a trained professional?

I drew myself up and looked down my nose at him. "Do your innkeepers have something against visitors?" I asked icily. "Because I can always take my money elsewhere."

He smirked at me. "There's no other inn for miles," he said. Then he leered at me. "If it's entry you want, though, I can always make an exception for such a fine lady – that is, if ye gives _me_ a little entry first, eh?" And then he made a _really_ crude gesture.

Magda was just a few steps behind me. I figured that I had about, oh, five seconds to resolve the situation before she realized what was going on and started killing people.

I shifted my grip on the quarterstaff. "Question," I said briskly. "Are you all done having kids, you think?"

His expression shifted to one of confusion. "Eh?"

"I'll take that as a yes." Then I knocked the pike aside, the way Harry had shown me, and swung my quarterstaff up between the guardsman's legs. Hard.

The man's eyes bulged. He doubled over and fell to the ground, where he started to make a kind of high-pitched keening noise. "How's that for a toll?" I called down at him. "We can arrange a two for one deal, if you want. Just ask. No, wait – on second thought, just nod."

Behind me, Magda burst into uproarious laughter. "Did you monk friend teach you that move?" she asked.

I relaxed my position and held Harry's quarterstaff upright again, watching the guard huddle into a fetal position and whimper. I didn't feel particularly guilty for nailing the jerk in the groin - Magda was right, some men really did need a lesson - but I _was_ annoyed that I was going to have to sleep on the ground again. "No," I said. "I made that one up all by myself."

Then we walked away and didn't stop to camp until well into the night. I figured it was a bad idea to linger in the area after I'd just assaulted one of their guardsmen. Magda agreed.

"Have you thought of a name for it yet?" she asked as we settled down for the night. She pointed at Harry's quarterstaff, which I'd taken to keeping within reach, even while I slept. It made me feel safer - more at peace, as if Harry was still with me in some small way.

I shrugged. "Not yet."

"You should." She grinned. "Especially now that it has performed such a noble deed."

We both laughed.

The next day, we came to a town called Griffon's Rest. I wondered if the two towns were related, or if the locals had just run out of names and started recycling or something.

It was late evening by the time we got there, and we headed straight for the inn. It was easy to find – there was only the one.

"Four and Twenty Blackbirds," I read the sign. Fortunately, this one – unlike the Blue Boar in Triboar – didn't actually have any dead animals nailed above the door. I was grateful for that. If nothing else, they'd probably have run out of space by the eleventh or twelfth blackbird.

I pushed the door open. Then I stopped.

Magda nearly walked over me. "What is-" she began. She followed my gaze to see where it had settled. "O _-ho_ ," she said delightedly. "So _that_ is what you like? Now I understand!"

He was sitting on the far side of the room. He had tousled blonde hair, a few days' worth of stubble, and pointed ears. He also had a lean, sinewy build, a fact that the leather armor he was wearing couldn't hide, and when he lifted his drink to his lips, I saw that his hands were surprisingly long and graceful for a man who looked so windblown and weathered. There was a quiver full of arrows on the bench beside him, and a bow leaning against the wall.

The man's face was strange. His eyes had a slight tilt at the corners, and the upswept angularity of his cheekbones and jaw gave him a vaguely fey and foxish look.

It was strange, but it was surprisingly nice to look at, for all that.

Urgently, I elbowed Magda in the ribs. "Is he an elf?" I asked.

She looked at me, visibly surprised. "No," she said. "He is a half-elf. A ranger, from the looks of him. Tempos's Balls...did they teach you nothing in that mansion of yours, my girl?" Then she grinned and winked. "Would you like him? I can go get him for you-" She started towards the man.

I stared. "Oh, _shit_ ," I said. I lunged for Magda's arm. I dug my heels in, trying to stop her. "No!" I hissed. "You can't just go up to him like that! He'll think I'm…I'm…"

"…attracted to him? Lonely? In need of a good tumble?" she finished for me, smirking. "But you are, little noble! This is perfect! No, it is just what you need. I will have a quiet word with him, and you just sit right-" She laid a hand on my shoulder and applied inexorable downward pressure until my backside encountered the seat of a chair. "-here." Then she gave me a critical look and rearranged my hair until it framed my face to her satisfaction. "There. You are beautiful, my dear. I will now go find an equally beautiful man for you."

I regained my wits just as she was leaving. "No, wait-" I protested, half-rising.

It was too late. She'd already caught his eye and was heading towards him with single-minded purpose.

I looked down at the floor and wondered if I could sink between the floorboards.

_On second thought, maybe not,_ I mused, looking at the muddy, leaf-strewn boards. _God_ damn _. When was the last time this floor was cleaned?_

Then I looked up again, and I met the man's blue eyes, and he smiled at me, and I forgot all about the floor.

I flushed and looked away. Then I looked back. He was still looking at me, and Magda was saying something to him which - probably fortunately - I couldn't hear.

The barbarian eventually came back over to my table, after a brief detour at the bar. She was grinning widely. "See what I have caught for you!" she crowed. "I have sung your praises, and he finds you very alluring. You see? It is so easy. But then, men are like that. All they need is a little encouragement and they will follow you like hungry puppies." She gave me a room key and a glass of brandy. "Now, you will quickly go upstairs, and the innkeeper's wife will bring you a bath. And then you will come down, and he will come speak with you, and if you like him, you will accept the key to his room and meet him there later tonight. How does that sound?"

I took the key and the brandy in a daze. "Do you do this kind of thing often?" I said weakly. The blonde man met my eyes over the rim of his glass, smiled, and looked away, almost coyly. "Oh. My god."

Magda smirked conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "I am very experienced at this kind of thing," she said. "It is very gauche among my people, for a woman to be seen encouraging a man in this way. But if Magda speaks on your behalf, no one will slander you. You see? It is all very discreet."

Discretion, coming from a woman who carried a big fuck-off claymore and worshipped a dead brontosaurus? Magda was turning out to be full of surprises. "Thanks, Magda," I said at last. "I owe you one."

"Oh, do not be silly. You are my friend. An honorable woman helps her friends. Oh, and drink this before you meet him." She pulled a tiny vial out of her travelling pack, handed it to me, and winked. "It avoids unpleasant complications. Trust me. I have done this many times before." She made a shooing motion. "Now go," she said. "Make yourself stunning, little noble."

I went upstairs, still in a daze.

The maids brought hot water. I soaked the dirt and sweat of the road from my skin and hair, and I dressed again in clean clothes, wishing that I had a decent dress and not just leather trousers and linen blouses. Harry had been wrong to dissuade me from buying something nicer – but, then again, I doubted this was what the monk had had in mind when considering my wardrobe.

Nevertheless, the outfit became a figure-hugging ensemble with a few tweaks. I rocked it pretty well, if I do say so myself, even if I didn't have half as many curves as Magda. That woman didn't have a straight line on her entire body.

There was no mirror. I did the best I could with my reflection in the windowpanes, and went downstairs.

Magda was having an animated discussion with the bartender. I sat down, taking a deep breath and moving with deliberate slowness. The last thing I wanted was to appear nervous. That was always a mood killer.

My resolution became strained when I felt a warm presence lean over my shoulder. A breath tickled my ear. "I am told that you are in need of some companionship," a baritone voice murmured in my ear.

A pleasant tingle ran up and down my spine. "Is that what Magda told you?" I asked huskily.

The man laughed. "She told me many things," he said. "But I like what my eyes tell me even more." Something cold and metallic was pressed into my palm. "My name is Auren," he said. "And I would be happy to see more of you, later this night."

The warm sense of his presence left. I tried to remember how to breathe.

I didn't look forward to waiting very long, but Magda came through for me again and kept me occupied for a while. She regaled me with stories of her clan - mostly epic sagas of who-killed-who and who spat on whose corpse afterwards, but they were entertaining in a violent kind of way, and provided a much-needed distraction.

At last, after midnight had come and gone and the common room had gotten quieter, I decided that I'd given appearances their due. I drank the vial Magda had given me – it tasted vaguely like raspberries, weirdly enough – and stood.

His door opened easily at my knock.

He'd removed his leather, and was dressed only in a tunic and trousers. "Hello," he said softly. "I am glad you could make it."

"Hello yourself." I closed the door behind me and hesitated, uncertain what to do next. _When was the last time I did this? Oh, right._ It had been a couple of weeks before Robert dumped me, the last time he and I got together. That made it…quite a long time, at this point. No wonder I was so nervous.

Not only that, but I was also in the wrong world and I wasn't even sure if this man was even the same _species_ as me. I wondered if there were any anatomical differences between humans and half-elves that I ought to be aware of, and then I wondered why I hadn't thought to ask Magda about it.

The pause was awkward. Auren broke it by smiling at me and stepped forward. He raised his hand, a little tentatively, and brushed my cheek with the backs of his long, graceful fingers. "You know," he said. "Your friend never mentioned your name."

His touch felt very nice. I felt my muscles unfreeze. I laid my finger on his lips. "No talking," I murmured. Then, throwing all caution to the wind, I lowered my hand and replaced my finger with my lips.

His lips were warm, and they parted invitingly beneath mine. A day's growth of stubble rasped against my skin. The scent of him left no doubt in my mind that, whatever else he was, he was most definitely a man – and that was good enough for me.

Banked fires flared to life. I felt a thrill of lust run through my veins, burning away the sickness of my grief.

Magda had been right. It _had_ been too long, and I was tired of feeling so cold and lonely and empty. I wanted to feel alive again - just for a little while. Was that too much to ask?

I traced the line of his shoulders with my hands. Then I tugged at his shirt insistently. He obliged me, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor while I let my hands roam over his warm, taut flesh. I liked the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin. I liked the way his sharp intake of breath turned into a throaty groan when I slid my hand down his abdomen to his belly. My fingers slipped below his waistband, and I smiled at what I found waiting for me there. Obviously, some things worked exactly the same way for half-elves as they did for human men.

Suddenly, my clothes were too much in my way. I drew my shirt over my head and then I undid the lacing of my pants and took his hands in mine and urged him to slip my pants down over my hips. The cool air raised goosebumps on my skin only briefly, and then his hands were stroking and touching and squeezing and then his mouth was on my breasts and his fingers were dipping between my thighs and it had really been too long because I just couldn't wait any more.

I laid my hands on his chest and pushed him back onto the bed. He fell back easily, and I was straddling his hips before he'd finished falling.

Then his hands reached for my thighs and guided me down onto him. I braced my hands on his shoulders to hold myself up because my whole body was quivering with the delicious shock of having all of that hot, hard flesh sliding up and into me and it was just what I'd needed and oh god oh god it had _really_ been too long.

My last coherent thought was that I owed Magda a whole _bar_ full of drinks for this brilliant idea of hers.

Then the pleasure narrowed my world to a single focus and the moans of the man beneath me grew louder and more urgent, and I didn't think of anything else for a long, long while.

Magda was already waiting downstairs at dawn.

I flopped down next to her and mimicked her pose – lounging comfortably on a wooden chair, with her legs stretched out in front of her and her boots propped up on the table.

I let out a long, lusty sigh. "Damn," I said. "I'm tired."

The Uthgardt woman grinned at me lasciviously. "You look much more relaxed now, little noble."

"Mmh. Do I, now?"

"Yes. Did you sleep?"

"Not a wink."

"A-ha! That's the spirit!" The barbarian slapped me on the back. "Good girl! You make Magda very proud."

We looked at each other. Then we both started to laugh, loudly enough to wake up the whole inn.

Maybe there _were_ some good things about this world, after all.


	28. Chapter 28

We were in the village of Red Larch when I tripped over a man on the edge of the village green.

He'd been laying stretched out in the shade of an old oak tree. I hadn't even seen him before I'd walked right into his outstretched feet.

I flew past him to land on my hands and knees in the grass.

"God damn it!" I yelled. I heaved myself to my feet and reeled around to face the man. "What the hell were you doing there?"

The man cracked open one eye. "Up until now?" he asked in a gravelly voice. "Sleeping."

I scowled and tried to brush myself off. "Yeah, well, you might want to find a little more out of the way place, next time," I suggested acidly.

"Actually, this _is_ an out of the way place. I commend you for being able to find it so unerringly."

I placed my hands on my hips and stared down at him, thoroughly annoyed. He was an older man, with a shock of close-cropped white hair that was doubly startling against his deeply tanned and weathered skin. His face was narrow, his clothes were worn and travel-stained, and he wore a faint smile on his lips, as if enjoying some private joke.

Also, for some reason, his boots kept drawing my eyes. The leather was so worn that it looked as if it had walked up and down the length of the whole world, and yet the soles were still in excellent shape, and each boot fitted to his foot like it had been made to his exact measure.

"Are you always this obnoxious?" I asked eventually.

"Yes."

"Well, at least you're honest."

"My god disapproves of untruths."

"And he approves of you assaulting innocent women?"

"With all due respect, my lady, if anyone has just been assaulted, it would be me. As I believe I have mentioned, I was just sleeping."

"In the middle of a field."

"More off to the side than in the middle, actually."

"Right. So was there any particular reason you were lying here in the not-middle of a field?"

"I was tired, and this tree is very pleasant to lie under."

I tilted my head and considered that. "You know, I can't find anything wrong with that," I admitted.

"I know. You must be very disappointed."

My lips twitched in spite of myself. "You have no idea," I said. "Can't you just pretend to be unreasonable so I can be angry at you?"

"No. But I can find some excuse to become unreasonable, if that is truly what you wish."

"Don't strain yourself on my account. You need your rest, I'm sure."

"Indeed. The years weigh heavily on me."

"Like lead," I agreed sweetly. The man laughed up at me, completely unoffended. I doubted that I could offend him if I tried.

I hesitated. There was something about the man that tempted me to stay and talk with him for a while, but Magda was waiting, and I had someone to find.

I glanced around resignedly and sighed. "Well, it's been fun, but I won't get anything done standing here." I looked down at the man, thoughtful. "Actually, maybe you can help me," I added. "I'm looking for a man by the name of Kelavir Tarn. Have you seen him?"

The man opened both eyes this time. He raised a thin white eyebrow at me. "Oh, yes," he said. "Quite recently, as a matter of fact."

My heart leapt. "Really?" I exclaimed. "Where?"

"Well, you will not find him in the middle of this field, that much is certain."

I glared at him and stamped my foot. It was a childish gesture, but I swear that the man drove me to it. "Fine," I said huffily. "Be that way."

I strode off to where Magda was admiring a paddock full of horses.

"Magnificent beasts, are they not?" she greeted me. Then she turned to look at me more closely. "What is wrong?"

I scowled. "I was just talking to this obnoxious old dude who looked like the last time he bought a new pair of boots was in-" I paused abruptly. My eyes went wide. "Shit. Wait."

Magda gave me a perplexed stare. "What?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I spun on my heel and strode back to the man.

He re-opened his eyes when my shadow fell across his face. "Welcome back," he greeted me lazily. "Have you found your quarry yet?"

I peered down at him. "Are _you_ Kelavir Tarn?" I demanded.

A wide, white grin spread across his sun-darkened face. "Finally," he said. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."


	29. Chapter 29

Kelavir Tarn sat up, stretching the kinks out of his limbs.

I sank to the ground next to him, torn between outrage and elation. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" I exclaimed.

He rolled his shoulders and twisted his head from side to side. I heard a series of cracks and pops. "Most likely for as long as I have been looking for you," he said serenely.

My jaw dropped. " _You've_ been looking for _me_?" I asked incredulously. "Then where have you been all this time?"

"Right here, of course."

I wondered if he was still young enough that hitting him wouldn't qualify as assaulting the elderly. His hair was white and he moved like he was past his prime, but on closer inspection, his face wasn't really that lined, and his hair was closer to white-blonde than true white. He could have been anything from a really beaten-up forty to a really well-preserved sixty. "So how the hell could you have been looking for me?" I asked.

He gave me a smile so bright and innocent it was practically blinding. Then he busied himself with getting to his feet. "I have often found that the best way to find some people is to stay in one place and wait until they come to you," he said easily.

Magda folded her arms over her chest and frowned. "You are a very confusing man," she complained. "You speak in nothing but circles."

Kelavir Tarn gave her a small bow. "My apologies, fair clanswoman," he said. "I strive for clarity, but the world is a complicated place, and it often confounds my efforts."

Magda blinked, momentarily nonplussed. I took over. "Why were you waiting for me, anyway?" I asked.

A slight grin curved Kelavir Tarn's lips. "You might say that the four winds blew me here," he said. Before I had a chance to question that bizarre statement, he moved on. "I understand that you are looking for someone," he remarked.

This entire conversation had me off-balance. I tried to regain my composure and match the man stare for stare. I thought I did a decent job, although I felt my face tighten into a slight grimace. "Who told you that?"

Kelavir Tarn smiled again. "A little bird carried the rumor to my ears," he said.

I threw my hands in the air. "Fine," I said. "If you want to be obtuse, be obtuse. Tell you what. I'll answer your question, and then you can give mine another go." I searched for the appropriate description to give the man, and decided that, if he knew so much, he could make do with the basics. "I'm looking for a man whose feet don't touch the ground."

Tarn just nodded. "Yes," he said. "I know him well. Why are you searching for him?"

I goggled at him. "Why?" I asked. "Because I think he's responsible for ruining my life, that's why."

Kelavir frowned. "That is very unlikely," he said. "There is no malice in him."

"Yeah, well, believe what you want, but my life has been cursed from the day I met him."

"So you met him, did you?"

"I just said as much, didn't I?"

"Yes. Yes, you did." Kelavir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He came to you," he added. "He asked to share your path. And then he asked where your path led."

If I had been shocked before, now I was floored. " _How_ did you know that?" I asked tightly.

He smiled enigmatically. "And then he asked you to follow." It was phrased as a question, though it had the air of a statement.

I was too flabbergasted to do anything but respond honestly. "Yes. Exactly."

Kelavir laughed. "Yes," he said. "That is how we all meet him. It is something of a ritual - one of the very few. You will discover that he rarely stands on ceremony. Personally, I find it very refreshing." Tarn thought for a moment longer. His fingers toyed with an amulet he wore around his neck – a strange thing, made of some dark metal with a pale inlay of a pointing hand that was surrounded by what looked like clouds - or maybe it was the wind. The design was so stylized that it was hard to tell just what it depicted.

Then he seemed to reach a decision, and his demeanor turned brisk. "Well, if you wish to follow, follow you must," he said crisply. "I cannot bring you to him, of course. Reaching him is your task and yours alone. But I _can_ tell you where to look."

This wasn't what I'd expected. "But-"

Kelavir Tarn continued as if I hadn't spoken. "He has a place high on the western face of the Lost Peaks, which lie within the northwestern reaches of the High Forest," he explained. "Follow the Evermoor way to the River Dessarin, and then turn east to follow the river's northern bank. It will take you into the High Forest and rise through the foothills of the Lost Peaks. Follow it until you cannot follow it any further – you will find a tall cliff and a waterfall. There will be a path to the north, marked by three standing stones. Follow that up the mountain's side."

My mouth opened and closed. Frantically, I tried to absorb this flood of information. "But…how do I know…"

Kelavir Tarn threw his head back and laughed. "You will know his place when you find it," he said. "Of that, there is no doubt." He looked at me. "You are troubled," he observed.

I groped for words. I eventually settled for something short and to the point. "No shit," I said. "How am I supposed to remember all that? And…I'll know it when I find it? What kind of directions are those?"

"Never fear, little noble," Magda boomed. "I know the ways of the High Forest. It is the ancestral place of my clan. I can lead you to this mountain."

Kelavir Tarn was shaking his head. "No," he said. "I am sorry, clanswoman, but you cannot. This is one path that your friend must tread alone."

The Uthgardt woman's eyes widened. She drew herself up to her full, imposing height, her nostrils flaring. "You suggest that I abandon the little noble to wander the wilderness alone?" she barked. "Are you out of your mind, man?"

Kelavir's tone was patient. "I am suggesting that if you do not let her find her own path, you will lead her quest to failure."

Magda blinked twice. Her voice turned subdued. "Is that a requirement of the task?" she asked. She was almost meek about it, and that, more than anything, shook my nerve.

"I am afraid so. The first path she seeks out must be hers, and hers alone."

"Um. Guys?" I waved my hand. "I'm still here. You can stop talking over my head now." I looked at Kelavir. "Are you telling me that he won't answer my questions if I don't go through this mystical mumbo-jumbo?" I asked incredulously. "Really?"

Kelavir looked at me curiously. "Your choice of words is…unusual," he said. "But yes. He makes few demands of us. This is one of those few." Then he reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. "You will find him, my dear lady," he said softly. "I would not be here if the one you seek did not think you capable of this."

I swallowed. "I wasn't worrying," I lied.

The man 's face went carefully blank. "Of course not," he said blandly. He squeezed my shoulder. "We will see each other again, when this is done," he said, and smiled his knowing smile. "I am sure of it."


	30. Chapter 30

Magda fussed over my rucksack. "You must have sufficient rations for two tendays' journey, at least," she said. "Do you know how to hunt?"

I thought of the little sling Harry had made for me. "Probably," I said. "Well…as long as the rabbits hold still so I can shoot them, anyway."

Magda scowled. "Be serious, little noble!" she chided me. "The High Forest can be dangerous, and the mountains are treacherous in any season. You should have heavier clothing," she said suddenly. "We must find you a fur to wear-"

"Magda, it's late summer. How bad can it be?"

"That is the kind of thinking that gets foolish young hunters killed!" She took a deep breath and grasped my shoulders. "You must be careful," she said. "I will not be there to protect you."

I was oddly touched by her concern. I didn't know what I'd done to to earn it, but then again, Magda never did anything by halves. Once she'd decided that you were her friend, you were stuck with her for life. Funnily enough, I found that I didn't really mind. "I know you won't be there," I said quietly. "But-" I trailed off.

I didn't want to go. The only way I was able to even contemplate it was by not thinking about what I was doing – at all.

I didn't even like mountain climbing. I'd never been above sea level in my life. I was probably insane to even be thinking of going through with this.

But. But, but, but. If I didn't do this – what was I going to do? Stay here forever? Give up on getting my life back – my _real_ life, not this bizarre, otherwordly interlude which I could no longer believe was a dream but still couldn't quite convince myself was real?

No. If I wanted my life back, this was my only lead. I had to follow it. I didn't see how I had any other choice.

I just had to make sure I didn't actually think about it too hard, or I'd start gibbering in terror and dissolve into a little pile of spineless goo right there on the cobblestones.

A sudden smile lit Magda's face. "If you encounter any bandits, you can use that special move you used on that guard at Griffon's Watch," she suggested archly. "It was very effective."

In spite of it all, I laughed. "I know," I said, and smirked. "Wasn't it? I wonder if the guy's still walking bowlegged."

Magda snickered. Still, her smile faded again as she helped me to sling my rucksack over my shoulder and adjust my cloak. "Have you chosen a name for your weapon yet?" she asked seriously. "It is very important, you know. What if you should fall? Then your weapon will not come with you to the afterlife, and you will have no way to fight the demons there."

Every time I thought I knew the woman, she came out with an outlandish statement like that. "I doubt I'm destined for Valhalla," I said diplomatically. "I don't think I'd fit in there."

"Yes. You are a very poor warrior," Magda agreed critically. "Still, some things must be done properly. It is tradition." She finished fiddling with the ties of my cloak and stepped away. "There," she said. "You are properly garbed and ready for your journey. How do you feel?"

_Scared,_ I thought. "Like I'm missing something," I said.

She slapped my back. "Of course you are!" she said heartily. "You will be missing Magda, your brave companion and finder of handsome men!"

I giggled. Then I rubbed my eyes. They seemed to be watering. "Take care of yourself, Magda. Go find some handsome men of your own. Kick some bandit ass for me, too, all right?"

Magda nodded. Her eyes blinked, several times.

I turned and began to walk away. "When you have finished your quest, come look for me in Grunwald!" Magda called after me. "We will celebrate your victory together!"

If everything went right, I would be very far away by then - but I didn't have the heart to tell her that. I blinked away some more tears. "I will!" I called over my shoulder.

Harry's quarterstaff thumped dully against the ground as I walked. Save for the thumping, it was about as quiet as he had ever been. I smiled at the thought.

Then my steps slowed. I stopped.

I began to laugh. I turned around. "Magda!" I shouted. "I just thought of a name for this thing!"

Her voice came back to me faintly. "What?"

My voice shook with laughter. "Silent Partner!"

Her encouraging catcalls floated back to me. I smiled and began walking again, Silent Partner thumping a rhythmic counterpoint to my footsteps.

"To the High Forest," I murmured to myself. "And then…home."

Silent Partner and I left by the gate and headed south – back the way we had come.


	31. Chapter 31

It was strange, but the Evermoor Way felt almost familiar to me.

Then again, it stood to reason. I'd been down that road once already. I was just retracing my steps.

Without Magda to keep up with, I split my time between running and walking. If nothing else, I didn't know how long this trip would take me, and constant running made me ravenously hungry. I didn't want to end up starving to death in some woebegone mountain pass somewhere. Not only would it be a horrible end, but it would be really fucking embarrassing. Other, smarter travelers would stumble across my sad remains and laugh at me.

I followed the road south to the bend, as Kelavir Tarn had instructed. Just to be sure, I asked along the way for the best path to the River Dessarin.

As it turned out, it was due south. I stopped where the road turned and looked at the sun to orient myself. Fortunately, the sun was just rising, and it seemed to rise in the east and set in the west just as it did at home, so I was all right there.

Then I ran south, towards the Dessarin.

The Dessarin wasn't the widest of rivers, but it was clear blue and frothy, with a pale, rocky bed. I sat on the banks and rested my feet for a little while, watching the river go by. I had to admit, it was a lovely sight. I wished that I could have shown it to dad. He'd always liked the water.

There was a mountain in the distance, blotting out a portion of the eastern sky. I wondered if it was the one I wanted.

_Well,_ I thought. _There's only one way to find out._

I stood up and walked on, picking my way along the rocky banks. The footing was uncertain, and I didn't relish the prospect of being swept downriver.

As I followed the river to the east, the landscape began to change.

First came a few scraggly trees, as the plains shifted to the forest.

Then the trees grew bigger, and I began to walk through patches of shade. I thought I saw oaks, and maples, and pines, and that was about where my botanical knowledge ended, at least as far as trees were concerned.

And then I passed beneath a deep green canopy, and I left the plains behind for good.

It was much more overgrown than the woods Harry and I had travelled through. Vines twisted around gnarled old trunks. Woody shrubs and half-grown saplings slapped me in the face with their limbs if I wasn't careful about where I walked – though Silent Partner was of great help in opening up a path for me.

Funnily enough, the staff's haft never became scratched, and the metal caps showed no signs of wear. Teddy had been right. The quarterstaff was a resilient piece of craftsmanship. _Just like its real owner,_ I thought with a bittersweet pang.

The river narrowed somewhat, and began to meander.

All of that made for slow going, and a few mishaps with some stubborn, thorny shrubs left me with long scratches on my arms and hands. I mixed up a salve, the way Harry had shown me, and dabbed it onto my cuts before rolling myself into my cloak and trying to sleep.

Bearing Hana's long-ago warning in mind, I made no fires. The nights were warm enough to do without, and I didn't want to advertise my presence here. No one had specifically mentioned what kinds of things were around here, but I still remembered those gnolls that Harry and I had run into. I didn't want a repeat of that experience.

I slept fitfully at night, jerking awake at every rustle or hoot. I woke with the sunrise, sandy-eyed and out of sorts. I stumbled on.

The land began to rise, slowing me down even further. More evergreens started to show up. The air took on that pleasing scent that I associated with pine sap and deep, cool forests.

I found some pines with low, concealing boughs which, if I scooted beneath them, gave me a convenient hidey-hole when it came time to sleep. I was grateful for the concealment, and slept a little better. The rustle of the branches was almost soothing, then, and the air smelled crisp and clean, and I remembered why I used to love to go camping.

And then, a few days later, I heard the roar of water, and I came into a valley at the foot of the mountains.

The waterfall cascaded down from high above. It zigged and zagged down the face of the rock – not as a mighty sheet of water, but as a burbling, to-and-fro fall.

Kelavir's instructions turned out to be accurate. There was a trio of stones right within sight of the waterfall.

I touched them as I passed. The stone was some kind of rough granite. Its colors varied from pale grey to almost pink.

I looked up. A dirt and gravel path led up the side of the hill.

After a minute's hesitation, I followed it, using Silent Partner to help me climb whenever the path grew steep.

It was hard to tell whether the path was natural or man-made. Sometimes it was clear and open. Other times, I had to climb over a rock to reach the path's continuation, or a smaller trail branched off and I had to stop and decide which way was the right way and which way would just lead me to a dead end.

I wanted to go up. I knew that much. So I chose the paths that seemed to climb, biting my lip and worrying each time that I'd made the wrong choice.

I was starting to fear that I'd screwed up somewhere. I had some supplies, but they wouldn't last forever, and I hadn't really been lying to Magda – I really was a terrible shot with the sling. Besides, I didn't really dig the idea of killing small, furry animals unless it was an act of last resort. I suppose it was hypocritical of me to be willing to eat them and not to kill them, but I still couldn't bring myself to do the act.

I climbed. The path grew steeper, and the air grew thinner. I wasn't used to that. I'd lived all my life at sea level. My lungs weren't made for altitude.

When I started seeing multicolored spots in front of my eyes, I decided to stop and take a breather.

I took a seat on a broad, flat rock and pulled my knees up to my chest, looking out over the valley.

I'd gone up higher than I'd thought. I was above the canopy of the High Forest now, and the trees stretched out before me like a green, leafy sea.

_God,_ I thought. _It's beautiful out here._ It reminded me of the places I'd seen when I'd been younger and still travelling all over the world – those open, unspoiled spaces that went on and on to the edge of forever and seared your heart with their beauty.

It took my breath away, like it always had. Funny, but I'd never realized how much I'd missed sights like these until I actually had them in front of me again. With time, and distance, I'd forgotten.

Thinking of those places made me think of those long-ago times, which made me think, as always, of dad.

A lump rose to my throat. I hugged my knees to my chest. "Miss you, daddy," I murmured brokenly. "I wish you could see this."

Suddenly, I felt guilty. What was I doing, sitting here and enjoying the view like this when my father was dead? What right did I have to any kind of happiness, when he'd never be able to see anything like this again?

I knew by now that dad wasn't coming back. I'd probably known it for a while, though it hurt like fire to admit it, even to myself.

This wasn't a dream, and I couldn't fix everything by finding the right exit. There was no changing what had already happened. All I could do, I realized, was go back home and try to pick up the pieces of the my life and the Blumenthal name and put them all back together again.

"I'm sorry, daddy," I whispered. That gaping hole in my heart hadn't closed any, but maybe there was a spark of something there, a little light in the darkness. "I'll give you a real reason to be proud of me this time. I promise."

I looked out over the valley for a while. In my mis-spent college days, I'd lived for this kind of thing. Wandering from place to place, seeing sights like these, meeting all kinds of people, maybe even helping to make the world a little less of a bad place.

Harry had done that. He'd been what I'd always wanted to be and never succeeded in becoming.

Maybe I should have been jealous of him. Maybe I was. Mostly, I just wished he was still around. This world was worse off without him.

I leaned my cheek against Silent Partner's haft and thought of what Harry had taught me.

Eventually, I distilled his lessons down to three.

One: Give more.

Two: Talk less.

And three: If anyone hassles you, hit them over the head with a stick.

I realized that I was laughing and crying softly at the same time. I wiped beneath my eyes with my fingertips. "Oh, Harry," I murmured. "I wish you could see this, too." He would have sat entranced for hours, a wide, tranquil smile on his face as he soaked up the beauty of the world. The thought of it made me smile a little, too, even though it also made me feel desperately lonely, up here on my little mountain perch with no one to share it with.

Then I thought of Teddy, and I wondered idly what I'd learned from the little, loudly-dressed wizard.

_Be nosy,_ I decided. _And don't let a little thing like common sense stop you from doing what's right._

And then there was Magda. It was easy to see what she'd shown me. She'd taught me to laugh loud, fight hard, and live for the moment, because you never knew what tomorrow would bring. If you were lucky, it might be a handsome man. If you were unlucky, it might be an enraged dinosaur, ready to trample you into the ground. You just never knew.

I watched the wind move the trees, and I thought of all the people I'd met on the road – all people whom, in all likelihood, I'd never see again.

I shook off the thought. It made me uneasy. _This isn't my life,_ I told myself firmly. _I don't belong here._

Then I took up Silent Partner, rose to my feet, and kept on climbing.


	32. Chapter 32

I hauled myself up on the ledge and lay there, panting.

I'd found the snowline several hours ago.

First, it had just been a few patches, and I hadn't given it much thought.

Then it had graduated to drifts, and then to a crusty layer of snow and ice that swallowed all signs of the path.

The path, up until then, had hugged the rock wall of the mountainside. I'd followed it by keeping my hand on the wall and feeling my way up, one step at a time. Sometimes I had to climb over rocks or up ledges, though, and the footing was treacherous.

I got to my feet, carefully. My fingers dug into the snow. They were red and chapped. I didn't have gloves. I hadn't thought of it. Maybe I should have listened to Magda.

I held on to the wall and took a few tentative steps, feeling ahead of me with the butt of Silent Partner.

My feet sank into snow, and then to solid ground. I felt a little more confident, and picked up the pace.

Then my foot slipped on an unexpected patch of ice.

There was a stomach-lurching sense of weightlessness, and then I hit the ground and slid downwards in a shower of pebbles and snow.

I didn't even think to scream. I just reached out blindly for some kind of purchase, any purchase.

My fingers scrabbled against rock. I came to a halt, clutching at the stone.

I didn't move for a while. Snow melted beneath me. My hip felt like one big bruise, and it felt like I'd done an equally good job on my shoulder. My hands were raw and scraped.

I closed my eyes. Hot tears welled up and slid down my cold-chapped cheeks. _What am I doing here?_ I thought. I didn't want to die out here. Not like this. I wasn't even sure where the path was anymore, much less how I'd make it all the way to the top.

I laid my head on my arm and gave in to exhaustion and despair. I hated this. I didn't want to be here. I just wanted to go home. I was so far out of my depth that it wasn't even funny. I wanted dad, or Harry, or _someone_ to come and rescue me and make this all not be happening.

I was so cold. I thought that maybe I should just stay where I was and let the snow cover me. It would be so much easier.

The wind picked up, whistling over the mountain. It blew my hair into my eyes and kicked up a spray of snowflakes.

_Get up,_ I heard a faint whisper. _Get up._

I lifted my head groggily, confused. Was I starting to hear voices? Was I that far gone?

The wind died down without any further comment.

I blinked some snow out of my eyelashes. I decided to try rolling over as the first step towards getting up.

I rolled onto Silent Partner and groaned as the quarterstaff crushed against some sensitive areas. _Well, at least it's good to know that I haven't lost it,_ I thought. I didn't know what I'd do if that happened. I'd kind of promised Harry that I'd keep it safe, after all – not in so many words, maybe, but that had been my whole reason behind taking it. I'd _really_ hate myself if I added that to my trail of broken promises.

I used Silent Partner to lever myself to my feet. I winced at the feeling of the quarterstaff rubbing against my torn palm, but I gritted my teeth and held on. If I dropped it up here, I might never see it again.

The path wound up and up. The wind grew louder and louder. It whipped at my clothes and lashed at my hair.

And then the path opened up onto a rocky, snow-covered ledge, and I saw.

A vast valley lay at my feet. A river wound through its heart, seeming barely more than shining ribbon from this distance. The valley floor was emerald green, a sea of trees which stretched out for miles before it gave way to golden plains. Pinkish grey rock spilled down the valley's slopes, and the same stone rose from the valley's walls to become the mountainside.

I turned, a sickening feeling of déjà-vu rising up in me.

I didn't really need to look. I already knew what I would see.

After all, I had already seen it once before, in a dream.

He stood in the lee of a cliff, a massive stone monolith at his back. The monolith was pierced with holes, through which the wind whistled like a flute.

The man's long, dark cloak rippled in the ever-changing wind, and his booted feet didn't touch the ground.

And then he spoke, and his voice went through me like thunder.

"Welcome, dear Rebecca," said the cloaked man. "I have been expecting you."


	33. Chapter 33

_Shadows, windows_   
_Sorrow like an undertow_   
_Clotheslines, telephone lines_

_It's a matter of time before they find me_   
_I'm waiting for a sign from one of my kind_   
_I'm waiting for the time to fall behind me_   
_I'm waiting for a sign from one of my kind_

\- Concrete Blonde, "One of My Kind"

* * *

 

I hadn't known what I would do when I saw him. I hadn't really thought that far ahead.

So I suppose that, in a way, it came as no surprise that my next move confounded even me.

_Here_ was the reason behind it all. _Here_ was the one who had started the whole downhill slide. _Here_ was the reason I'd had to climb this miserable fucking mountain in the first place.

I let out a banshee wail of pure, mindless rage, lifted Silent Partner high in the air, and ran forward to strike.

Then the wind rose to a howl, and I ran into an invisible wall. I staggered and fell.

My opponent sighed. "Please do not do that, Rebecca," he said wearily. "You will only hurt yourself."

I picked up the quarterstaff and staggered to my feet. Then I tried again.

I fetched up against that wall of wind once more. I pounded on it with my fists. "This isn't funny, you son of a bitch!" I shrieked. "Stop hiding and come out where I can hit you!"

He folded his arms over his chest and regarded me, his eyebrows lifted in an expression of mild disapproval. Belatedly, I saw the hilt of a massive sword peeking up over his shoulder. It was slung across his back, and the shadow it cast was longer than it should have been, streaming dark and silent over the mountainside. "You are only making a fool of yourself, you know," he remarked conversationally.

I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, breathing hard. I found my voice. "Go ahead," I rasped. "Ask me if I give a damn."

"I invited you here so that we could talk, my dear, vengeful Rebecca." His bearded lips twitched into a smile just as quickly as they'd formed into a frown. "I did not invite you here so that you could attempt to crack my skull."

I sank down to the ground, shaking my head. "What did you do to me?" My voice was hoarse, and barely above a whisper.

I hated the look of sorrow in his eyes. I didn't want sorrow. I wanted answers.

"I did nothing to you, Rebecca," he said in his soft, resonant voice. "I only offered to show you another way."

"Bullshit. You _made_ me follow you."

A stern edge crept into his voice. His eyes darkened to storm-grey. "I will forgive you those words, because you do not understand what you are saying," he said quietly. "But know this - I force none to do my bidding, Rebecca. None."

My lip curled. I looked up at him. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that you didn't know I'd fall for your bait," I said flatly.

"Enticement is not coercion," he said sharply. He gave a slight, irritated hitch to his shoulders. Then his posture eased, and his voice returned to its dry, measured calm. "And if I could have spared you your grief, I would have done so." His eyes were steady on me. They were softer, now, more silver than storm. "I bear you no ill will, Rebecca. Far from it."

My laugh was bitter. "So what happened to my life?"

He shrugged. "Some of your losses came from misfortune," he said simply. "Some of them came from mistakes of your own making."

I was already shaking my head in denial. " _No_ ," I said. "No. That's not how it happened."

He inclined his head. "As you wish, Rebecca," he said gravely. "I can only offer you the truth. I cannot make you accept it."

I didn't answer. I sat with my hands held loosely in my lap and stared at my bleeding palms. They stung in the cold air. I barely felt it. I felt numb.

It was quiet for a while, with nothing but the ever-present keening of the wind in my ears.

Then the cloaked man stirred. "Would you like to know how I found you?" he asked suddenly.

I moved my head slightly and kept staring at my hands.

He seemed to take this as permission to go ahead. "One of my followers discovered an unstable portal forming within the Neverwinter Woods." He moved a little closer, his cloak swirling around his ankles. "As is my tendency, I came to study it, to see if it might be of any use."

He stopped. "As I drew near, I heard a voice," he said. "Your voice."

I huffed a short, tired breath that might have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so despairing. "That's nuts," I said tonelessly. "I didn't say a fucking thing. I didn't even know you were there."

"You did not have to," he replied calmly. "Your soul did the speaking for you."

I snorted. "What, you hear souls?" I asked scornfully. "You think they talk to you?"

"No. Or rather, yes, but only those to which my ear is especially attuned." He stepped closer. "I hear the souls of wanderers, and of those who are lost," he said. "I hear the souls of those who long for the freedom of the road and the open sky. Wayfinders and trailblazers, pilgrims and vagabonds…I hear them all."

He paused. His voice grew deeper. It vibrated through my bones and my blood. There was a power in it - nothing overt, but a subtle and stunning force that rendered me temporarily speechless. "But of all of them, I have seldom heard a soul call to me as loudly as yours," the cloaked man said. "I heard it from across the chasm between two worlds. Do you know why?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Because your soul yearns for exactly those things which constitute my very nature. That is why I hear it so clearly." He laughed softly. "We are uniquely suited, you and I. You cannot see it, because your vision is clouded. But I...I can see what you are, Rebecca."

I snorted wearily. "So what am I?" I asked, not because I really wanted to know but because I didn't really have anything better to do but continue this ridiculous conversation.

He smiled. "You are one of my kind," he said with quiet satisfaction. From the corner of my eye, I saw the man extend his hand – slowly, as if he was dealing with a skittish animal that he didn't want to spook into running. "Give me your hands," he urged. "I will show you."

I turned my head away. "I don't want anything from you," I spat.

"No?" His voice was only mildly curious, as if I'd just told him that I didn't like cheese on my pizza. "So why are you here?"

My jaw clenched. "I want to go home," I said, and I hated how my voice came out all small and broken. "I want my life back."

"I cannot change what has already passed," I heard him say. "But…yes. You seek a portal to your home world. I can help you."

For a moment, I didn't believe my ears.

Then I blinked. Baffled, I looked up. "You can?" I asked dumbly.

He shrugged. "Of course. It is what I do," he said cryptically, and grinned. Then his grin faded into thoughtfulness. "I must ask something of you in return, however. If I give you what you will need to find this portal of yours, it will diminish me for a time. I cannot give it lightly."

My lips twisted. "Of course," I said wearily. "You scratch my back, and I scratch yours, huh? Nice to see that the world doesn't change – even when it's not even the same damn world."

He cocked his head at me. "Sometimes you use a very strange idiom," he murmured. "It makes it difficult for me to understand you. But…yes. If you wish, we can call it a bargain."

I grunted. "So, what are your terms?" I asked warily.

The bastard answered my question with a question of his own, just the way he had when we'd first met that night in Central Park. It was even more annoying this time around. "What is it that you most wish to do?" he asked me.

I stared at him. "Get home," I said through clenched teeth. "I thought that was obvious."

He stared back. His eyes, up close, were strange. Their color kept shifting all the way through the spectrum of grey, from dark steel to a silver so pale it was almost colorless. It was like looking at a time-lapse photo of an overcast sky. "What is obvious is not always what is real," he said at last.

I snapped. I stood up, and turned my back on him. "This is pointless," I said leadenly. I didn't like the way my voice broke on the last syllable. "You're just fucking with my head, and you know, I really wish you'd just stop."

I heard him sigh. The wind echoed him, becoming a soft susurration over the stone. "Suspicious child," he said wearily.

"For some pretty damn good reasons."

"So you have learned to believe." He paused. "You yearn to see the beauty of the world," he said abruptly, answering his own question. "To see the secret places, the corners of the world where no other foot has tread, the sunrise over some new horizon - that is what brings you joy."

My shoulders stiffened. I thought of my strange contentment, not so long ago, as I sat looking out over the valley and soaking in its beauty. Now, a chill ran down my spine. "You don't know that," I mumbled.

"Of course I do." I heard the smile in his voice. "It is in my nature to know these things when I see them."

I stood there for a while, paralyzed by confusion and despair. My eyes stayed glued to the distant trees - not that I was really seeing them. If I let my eyes unfocus, everything turned into a blur, which was a damn sight better than seeing things clearly. Clarity hurt, at times like these. It made me wish I'd brought a bottle of something along - preferably something that could peel paint.

After a while, the man spoke again, making me twitch in surprise. "The cruelty and injustice of the world makes you angry, because you have little hope that it will ever change," he said. "But there still remains a part of you that wants to set things right. That is the other force which moves you."

"It's pointless," I heard myself answer bleakly. I felt drained and empty. I'd hoped to get home, or at least answers, and instead, what do I get? A goddamned philosophical debate. "It's like pissing on a bonfire to put it out."

I heard a bark of a laugh. "There is nothing stopping you from trying, you know."

I snorted. "Yeah," I said sourly. "Nothing but this little thing called _reality_."

"Reality is what you make of it," he said calmly. He paused again. "You, for instance, have made a cage of it."

I shrugged jerkily. "And?" I asked, a snarl in my voice. "What's it to you?"

"I would like to see how far you might travel, if ever you broke free."

"I'll never be free if I'm stuck here."

"You will never be free no matter where you go, my dear Rebecca - not if you insist on carrying that cage of yours with you."

I rounded on him. "And how do you propose to get me out of it, huh?" I shouted at him. "Fine, so you know everything, you see my fucking _soul,_ you think you know who I am - so why won't you help me? Huh? _Why?!_ "

He cocked his head at me. "I said that I would help you, Rebecca," he said calmly. He lifted an amused eyebrow. "And, while I will grant that I am very old, there is nothing wrong with my hearing. There is no need to shout."

I ground my teeth together. "You're impossible, you know that?" I grated.

His grin widened, becoming a flash of white against his tanned and weathered skin. "There, do you see? We do have something in common." He caught the look on my face and sighed. He held up his hands. "I apologize," he said then. "You are in no mood for jokes, I see."

I stood with my mouth open for a couple of seconds. Then I shut it with a snap. "Well...good," I grumbled. "At least you're not a complete bastard."

"I thank you for the kind assessment."

"I take it back. You _are_ a bastard."

He barked a laugh. "Then I thank you for your honesty," he said, unruffled. He looked at me. "Give me your hands," he said again, gently.

I glared at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"So that I can show you proof of my good intent."

I snorted. "Where have I heard that before?" I asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes. "You are very exasperating."

"Yeah? Well, so are you."

"Ah. Another trait we have in common, then. Excellent."

"You know, if I could get through that wall of yours, right this second? I'd punch you in the fucking nose."

"Then it is fortunate that you cannot get through, is it not?"

"For you, or for me?"

"For both of us, I would wager."

We stared at each other - him with amused serenity and me with frazzled frustration. The wind whistled over the mountain.

Eventually, I gave in. I sighed and held out my hands. "Fine," I said grudgingly. "But if you try anything..."

"You will attempt to hit me again." His grey eyes gleamed in silent laughter. "I know. You are very tenacious."

The man stepped forward, walking soundlessly on the insubstantial air. His hands, though, were very warm and solid as he cupped them around mine.

"Watch," he murmured, and at first I didn't know what he was going on about.

Then I felt a tingle in my hands, a strange and not unpleasant coolness, and, as I watched, the scrapes in my palms began to close. The raw redness in my fingers began to fade.

His thumbs brushed the gravel and dirt from my skin – my new, whole skin.

I stared. Experimentally, I flexed my fingers. They felt as good as new. So, for that matter, did my hip and shoulder - and he hadn't even said anything. Whenever I'd seen Teddy cast a spell, he'd had to chant something. So had that cleric of Tymora. But with this guy...nothing. Not a word, not even a sound. "Okay," I said. "I give. How'd you do that?"

He smiled at me. "I have no great power," he said. "But I have enough to spare for you, Rebecca."

I stepped away abruptly, hugging my arms around my chest. "So you want me to do those things you said, and in exchange you'll show me how to get home?" I asked. "That's a little vague, isn't it?"

"I endeavour not to give specific instructions." He shrugged. "Those who follow me tend to manage better without them."

"Well, try," I said stubbornly. "I want to know what I'm agreeing to."

He inclined his head again. "Very well," he said. His eyes went distant for a moment, as if thinking. "Roam far - wherever the wind takes you," he said at last. "Forge new trails. Keep the paths safe for those who follow. Help those you meet along the way." He smiled slightly. "In so doing, perhaps you will even help yourself," he suggested.

I ignored that. I turned his words over in my mind, looking for the catch. The problem was that I couldn't really find it. The wording was loose enough that I could see a million ways to follow it to the letter without too much trouble - hell, a few coins to a beggar would fulfill at least half of it - and I'd probably be wandering around some anyway, before I got to my portal home. "Do I get to choose who I help?" I asked slowly.

"You may not turn away any who are lost or injured." He shrugged again. He seemed fond of that gesture. "For the rest, I trust you will use your own judgement."

I bit my lip, thinking hard. "How long will I have to do this?"

"Until you reach your portal."

"And then?"

"And then?" He smiled. "For as long as it pleases you."

That seemed way too easy. "And you'll help me find a way home?" I insisted.

"I will."

I stared at the ground between - actually, more like below - his booted feet. "Okay," I said finally. I looked up. "How?" I asked.

His face eased into a smile, one that lit his eyes almost to blue. "The first step is to give you the means," he said, and stepped forward. He lifted his hands, holding them above my shoulders. "May I?" he asked politely.

I looked into his eyes. It was like looking into the sky, and I found it hard to look away. Slowly, I nodded.

His hands settled gently onto my shoulders. "Then we are agreed," he breathed.

And then, before I could stop him, before I could even react, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead, as if in benediction.

_"Take this gift, in fulfillment of my promise,"_ I heard him whisper - or maybe the words just bypassed my ears and went straight into my brain.

And then the spot where his lips had touched my skin began to burn like holy fire, and I had no more time to think.

The fire roared through my veins, incinerating everything in its path.

It slammed into my suddenly laboring heart and burst through to my lungs, filling them with electric heat and a coruscating power that welled up behind my eyes and took my sight and flooded my brain with a blinding, white-hot glow.

I think I was screaming. I think I might have collapsed. I don't know for sure.

I think I felt his arms around me, lowering me softly to the ground and holding me still as my body convulsed. I think I heard his voice, whispering reassurances in my ear. I'm not sure about that, either.

All I know was that it hurt like nothing ever had before. And all I know is that it felt glorious, like nothing ever had before.

And then, as the light began to fade to black and my consciousness began to slip away from me, I touched on the edges of a consciousness that wasn't mine, an awareness that was all wind and rain, sun and shadow, and I finally knew his name. I knew it as well as I knew my own.

"Sleep, my Rebecca," Shaundakul whispered to me, and his voice was like the sigh of the wind over the mountains. "Sleep. I will let no harm come to you."


	34. Chapter 34

Snowflakes were falling against my skin.

Where they landed, I felt a faint fizz, like a spark of static electricity.

Then they melted, and the water trickled down my cheek.

I opened my eyes, blinking away the snowmelt.

I was lying on a dais, my cheek pressed against the stone. The sky was grey, verging on white. There was something draped over me.

I sat up, slowly. My cloak slid from my shoulders. I heard the sound of something metallic slithering off of me and hitting the ground.

Then I pressed my hands to my chest and curled in on myself, gasping. My breathing was shallow and rapid.

I felt…very strange.

My body felt hollow, almost weightless, like I was made of blown glass. My muscles still twitched spasmodically every now and again, as if an electrical current was running through them.

And then there was something else. Something new.

I felt it as a tingle beneath my breastbone, pulsing in time with my heart. I felt it as a buzzing in my head, and as a whisper that ran through my veins like a breeze.

It was unsettling. I didn't like it.

I looked up. The dais was empty. I was alone.

I gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe it," I muttered. "I can't fucking believe it. So much for helping me, huh? So much for our bargain."

At least now I could put a name to the culprit.

Shaundakul.

Fucking hell. Why hadn't Kelavir Tarn told me that the man I was seeking was a god? How could he have just glossed over that little factoid? Maybe his god didn't like untruths, but Tarn was as good as any politician at lying by omission.

It seemed so ridiculous to even think of taking these things seriously. Gods who walked the earth like mortals? Gods who fucked up your life in a particularly hands-on way and then vanished? Magic that actually worked? Voices in the wind? None of that should have been possible. It wasn't possible, not where I came from.

The problem was, I couldn't doubt the truth of it. Not anymore.

The memory of what he'd done to me was already fading into a jumble of half-remembered sensation, but I remembered all too vividly that moment of epiphany.

Somehow, there on the brink of consciousness, I'd made contact with something, with some mind that had no edges or boundaries that I could sense, and I'd known, just known, who and what my nemesis was.

The knowledge had soaked into every fiber of my being. I despised it, but I couldn't deny it.

And now Shaundakul – may rabid pygmy marmosets nest in his rectum, god or no god - had gone and left me alone, and I had no idea what to do next.

"Fuck," I said to myself. "Atheism was so much easier. Why'd he have to go and ruin it?"

Nobody answered. Not that I expected an answer.

I felt like such a tool.

So much for my grand plan to get home, I thought bitterly. Good move, Rebecca. Now even the gods have ditched you, and you really have nowhere to go.

Still – I had to go somewhere. I was wiped out, and I still felt like my head was floating above my body like a balloon, but I couldn't stand to look at this place. His place.

I wiped my eyes with a trembling hand and leaned over to pick up Silent Partner.

I stopped in mid-lean.

I vaguely remembered hearing a metallic noise when I'd woken up from my faint. I wondered if this thing beneath my nose was the explanation for it.

I picked it up, my blood running cold.

The chain was heavy silver, and the pendant was a smooth, solid weight in my hand.

It was an oval of dark grey metal, with a paler grey inlay on its face. It depicted a pointing hand, surrounded by stylized swirls of wind.

I tried to remember where I'd seen it before.

Kelavir Tarn, I thought suddenly. He wore the same exact thing. I turned the thing over in my hands, the chain slithering coolly against my skin. Hmm. It looks kind of like that symbol the priestess of Tymora wore, too…

Then my fingers clenched around the amulet.

Kelavir Tarn hadn't just known whom I'd been seeking. He worshipped the bastard. And he hadn't even told me.

I lurched to my feet with a wordless shriek and threw the amulet overhand. It sailed out over the edge of the cliff and vanished from view. "Fuck you!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "You think I'm your little slave now? Well, think again!"

Then I turned back, holding my hand to my shoulder. It hurt. "Shit," I muttered. "I think I just sprained something."

Then I gathered up my things and headed for the path.


	35. Chapter 35

I was lost.

The trail had been familiar at first – as familiar as a snow-covered trail could be, anyway.

Then I must have climbed over a ledge I mistook for a part of the path, or taken a wrong turn, or _something,_ because between one moment and the next I began to feel a nagging sense of wrongness.

I didn't recognize where I was. Also, I could swear that the snow was growing deeper. Now it was up to my knees. What the hell kind of deranged place was this, where you found this kind of snow at the end of summer? I wish I knew. Maybe, if I knew where I was, I could figure out how to get _out._

I tromped on through the snow for a while. I mean, logically, if I just kept going down, I'd get to the base of the mountain, and from there I'd hopefully be able to set a straight course for…somewhere. I didn't know where, but anywhere had to be better than this.

Then, frustrated, I stopped and looked out over the mountain slopes.

There was no river below me. Just a whole lot of trees. And more mountains. Lots more mountains.

I sat down heavily. "Great," I said. "Just peachy. Now what?"

My head hurt. My throat was tight. My breath hitched. Not that crying ever did anything useful, but I couldn't help it. I was lost and alone and _still_ nothing worked out right. I wondered why I even bothered to keep going.

All I wanted to do was to find some quiet bar somewhere and drink until I couldn't even remember my own name. Maybe I'd find a nice man like that half-elven ranger, Auren, and take him to bed, ask him to make me forget everything.

But I couldn't even do that much. Why? Because I was in the middle of the fucking wilderness, that was why.

I sat there with my head in my hands, listening to the thud of my heartbeat.

After a while, the thud got louder.

I heard the slither of falling snow. It pattered down around me, shaken loose from the ledge ahead. Some of it landed on my hair.

The earth shook under my feet.

I frowned. Those thuds were getting louder and louder all of the time. Maybe they weren't coming from me, after all.

I looked up, shaking the snow out of my hair. My eyes scanned the rocks and trees for any signs of life.

In retrospect, I should probably have just taken to my feet and found somewhere to hide.

I didn't. I sat on my rock, confused, and I just listened to the thuds get closer.

_You know, it's funny,_ I thought to myself. _Those almost sound like footsteps._

Then the ground shook again, this time with a bellow so loud that it knocked me from my seat.

"WHY YOU HERE ON MONGO'S LAND, LITTLE HOOMAN?" a deep voice boomed like an airhorn. There was a whoosh of air and a crack of breaking wood. The ground shuddered again. "YOU NOT WELCOME! YOU WANT MONGO EAT YOU?"

I was sprawled in a snowdrift. I looked up. My jaw dropped. My insides shriveled in fear.

There was a…a _thing_ towering above me. I couldn't call it a person, even though it looked vaguely human, because it was slumped and potbellied and hairy and had a forehead like a set of balconies – and, most importantly, it was taller than most trees. It was carrying a tree as a _club,_ for god's sake.

I wasn't sure how tall it was. I wasn't in a state to make any calculations. However, I guessed that, standing, the top of my head would come up to its shins - which made it officially _way too fucking big_.

I scrambled backwards. My shoulder blades bumped against a boulder. "I…I…I…"

The monstrosity swung its tree-club at the mountain's rocky face. More snow fell. The trees groaned. "WHY YOU NOT ANSWER?" it roared. "YOU MAKE MONGO ANGRY!"

"I…what? W-wait!" My voice came out shrill with hysteria. "I'll go! I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"NO!" The thing took a thunderous step forward. "IT TOO LATE, HOOMAN! NOW MONGO SMASH!"

"No!" I yelped. I scrambled to my feet and backed away blindly. I clutched Silent Partner so hard that my knuckles turned white. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might leap out of my chest. "No smash! Bad Mongo! Wait! Don't-"

The monster swung its weapon against the wall once more. The whole mountain seemed to groan and quake with the impact. "HOLD STILL, LITTLE HOOMAN!" it shouted.

Then I saw its head start to turn, and I heard the groaning grow louder.

More snow pattered down at my feet.

A series of cracks tore through the air like gunshots.

I looked up.

"OH, NO," said Mongo. "MONGO NOT LIKE THIS."

Then the side of the mountain began to move, and the snow came pouring down like water.

I raised my hands to cover my head. I might as well not even have bothered.

The impact slammed the breath out of me, and suddenly I was sliding, rolling, speeding down on a flood of white snow and sharp stone.

Somehow, I held on to Silent Partner. I don't know how. I just wrapped my arms around it and hugged it to me like a security blanket as the flood carried me away.

And then, with one last, jarring lurch, it stopped.

Distantly, I heard a hiss and a series of patters.

And then it all went quiet.

Snow filled my mouth and nostrils. Dazed and battered, I tried instinctively to move.

Then I found that I couldn't.

And then I realized that all I could see was white.

* * *

 

_To be continued..._


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